


Born of Ink

by VigilanteFlower



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mistaken Identity, ParanormalJournalist!Kylo, Premature Ejaculation, Slow Burn, Vampire Sex, Vampire-typical violence, Vampires, thigh biting, vampire!hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28304991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilanteFlower/pseuds/VigilanteFlower
Summary: What are the chances of someone writing a letter to him about himself?Bored with a lacklustre unlife, Hux tempts fate by publishing a book on immortality. He gets his wish for excitement when a letter arrives from an enamoured young journalist named Kylo Ren, who has asked Hux to help find a mysterious man, that just so happens to be Hux himself.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo, Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 35
Kudos: 175
Collections: Kylux Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking an interest in this story! I've put a lot of time and love into it, so I hope you enjoy it thoroughly. It's my first time tackling something this ambitious, and I'm proud of it.
> 
> Biggest thanks to AllantieeArt, who is the illustrator for this fic! You'll be seeing her wonderful pieces as the story progresses :) You can find her @AllantieeArt on Instagram, Twitter and Tumblr. (https://twitter.com/AllantieeArt and https://allantieeart.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can find me @Arden_Hux on twitter as well.
> 
> Comments and likes will make my day every time!

**Philadelphia, Early April, 1893**

Ben chews on the inside of his lip, not doing a good job of keeping it light enough to avoid harm. He sinks low in his chair, putting himself in danger of tipping the whole thing over. The chair creaks in warning as he rocks on its hind legs with a foot pressed to the inside of his desk. 

A headline on the third page of The Weekly Item reads: Women March on Governor’s Home Demanding Right to Vote. The speckled ink of the printing press continues on down the page, describing the recent news that New Zealand has officially granted women the ability to participate in their upcoming election. About two thirds through the article, there’s a pithy quote about the permeating corruption within the currently elected circles of their city, and following it up is the name he could have guessed from her verbiage alone: Leia Organa. 

His mother has been a pioneer of Women’s Suffrage his entire life, and while any good son would want to congratulate and support her in her success and bravery, Ben could only fixate on the lecture he knew would come the next time she forced him to come to dinner. 

Leia had high hopes that he would follow her passion for politics and justice. As a child, he’d looked up to her, tried to be the best son she could possibly ask for, and worked towards the dreams she had for him. But Ben had never had the temperament. For all her alliances built over playdates, and adolescent introductions to potential mentors, Ben did not have the patience to nurse such superficial relationships, nor was he skilled at keeping his temper from interfering. 

For a time, the promise of maybe one day running for president was enough to convince him, because power like that was undeniably tempting to a teenager. Leia had been thrilled about his growing interest and he did his best to curb his natural awkwardness. She sent him to university, and paid for a thorough education in the emerging field of Political Science. That was, until the day women’s suffrage came up in lecture. 

Though they clashed almost daily, Ben cared deeply for what she thought of him and what others thought of her. So not a single thing could have stopped him from punching the filthy mouth of the mayor’s son when he insulted her. He’d leaned in and whispered over the professor that Ben’s mother was a husbandless whore who should get out of the way of real politicians. It hadn’t been the first time the scab had said it, but it was certainly his last with a full set of teeth. 

Ben didn’t bother with any tribunal that might follow, he knew the perspectives of the men who taught him; they spent all day telling him about them. Knowing what verdict they would inevitably reach, he just left; grabbed his things, and walked out before anyone could stop him. 

It hadn’t been fear driving him at that point, it was shame and self-pity. Both feelings sank deeper into him with each step closer to home. Every breath felt like a lungful of smoke, given off by the crackling embers of his life no longer to be. He could feel it closing off his airways and charring him from the inside out. 

He stood before Leia, face expressionless and chest heaving in the silence, as she looked up from the dining room table with stark concern. He will never forget the look on her face as his words set her dreams alight, like a match to kerosene. 

Finding a worthwhile job after that had become nearly impossible. After all, it was difficult to pursue politics when he was effectively banned from every lecture on the subject. And the mayor himself made it known to any business owner that showed an interest in Ben exactly what kind of bad luck would come their way if they gave him a shot.

Leia constantly tried to convince him to keep looking anyway, but to accept her help in finding him a place in politics again would mean reconciling what he’d done to her dreams. Instead, he avoids her as best he can and chooses not to acknowledge the allowance she sends him each month. All he wants now is to go somewhere new, to find something that motivates him beyond his mother’s dreams. But the pittance he’s paid makes such a desire feel impossible.

The only job he’s been able to get is as a journalist for the least respected publication in all of Philadelphia: The Fringe. It toys with the line between fact and fiction as if the line doesn’t exist at all. Ben is tasked with writing articles on various paranormal goings on. Sometimes it’s a ghostly encounter, which had one time turned out to be a man’s mistress poorly hiding her presence. Other times the report is something like a vicious, seven foot tall monster prowling an alleyway every night. That one was really the imagination of an obscenely drunk man looking up at the elongated shadow of a mangey racoon. 

Every now and then, Ben finds something that he isn’t able to completely explain. Those ones always stick with him. They keep him up at night as he tries to figure out the truth, each story gripping his waking mind tightly in it’s quizzical clutches. He wants magic, witchcraft, and mysteries of great unknowns to be real. Some grand design that will make the life his mother once planned for him seem laughably insignificant, and therefore wipe away the guilt he’s never shed. 

He’d once considered pursuing a religious calling, but the day he’d sat through a sermon about the atrocities of sodomites, he’d nearly vomited. The sickly colour he’d turned had prompted the elderly couple next to him to share in their understanding of his sickness at what they were hearing. He’d nodded silently, politely, and nearly cut his palms on his nails from the strength of his grip. They had no idea that his ill state was due to the places his mind wandered on lonely nights. After that, he abandoned the possibility of finding purpose through God.

Instead, he’d turned towards subjects just as uncertain, but far less judgemental. Though the pay isn’t exactly worth the effort, nor the reputation. The Fringe is widely considered a rag, making it by as a laughable piece of entertainment for ladies at Sunday brunch. He can’t bring himself to think of his mother’s companions giggling over his articles while they nibble at their fruit tarts.

He’s had enough of this memory lane. 

Ben’s broad hands crush the length of The Weakly Item as the chair lands back on all fours. He throws it haphazardly into the nearly overflowing bin beside his desk. He lays his face into his palms with a sigh that transforms into a groan of agitation. 

“Solo, look a little more lively, would you? I have a new assignment for you.”

Ben drops his hands from his face just as Suralinda Javos, his boss, enters the office. With dark hair and regal features, her imposing presence always leaves a distinct impression of cunning and severity upon those who encounter her. Ben is similar in that regard, with an unusually tall and broad stature, and an air about him that greatly dissuade people from any attempts at a power struggle. They got along well.

Suralinda isn’t technically owner of The Fringe; her uncle is. He funds the whole thing to support the aspirations of his favourite niece. So, for all intents and purposes, Suralinda is the one in charge of everything. It’s rare to find a woman working in journalism, and therefore she writes under a bluntly masculine pseudonym. Ben does as well, writing articles as Kylo Ren to avoid all the problems that now come with being Ben Solo.

Suralinda doesn’t believe blindly in the things they research, but she can light a fire of excitement in anyone. Before they know it, she has them agreeing to the existence of werewolves. Her curiosity is infectious, and Ben finds it makes things a little easier for him.

“What is it this time? Are you sending me out to investigate someone’s disappearing laundry?” His tone is droll and apathetic, and his expression says the same. With a frown and fine wrinkled brow, Suralinda sits down at her desk in the office directly across from him. 

The Fringe operates out of a small third floor office space. Two other desks occupy the primary room where Ben sits, their usual occupants already out on assignments, like he suspects he’s about to be.

“What a sour mood you’re in this morning.”

“Just more bad news.” He lifts the paper up in reference to its contents. Suralinda gives a displeased little curl of her lips as acknowledgement.

“Fair enough.” 

Her chair squeaks against the hardwood for a moment as she draws herself into her desk. 

“But onto your task at hand. I’ve recently been thinking something a little broader would be a good next move. We’ve been focusing mostly on local incidents, but readership has slipped a bit the last couple of months and I think something that appeals to the masses is the way to go.” Leaning forward on her desk, she laces her fingers together, a glimmer in her eyes that acts as the casting of her line into the pond of his interests.

“What do you think about the promise of immortality?”

Ben doesn’t say anything at first, his brow just dropping as he stares. 

“You’ve asked me to look into a lot of things, but that one’s definitely not going to lead anywhere. I think I’d rather take the laundry ghost idea.”

With a roll of her eyes, she sighs and leans back again, casually folding her hands in front of her bodice tight stomach.

“Don’t be like that. Humanity has sought never-ending life since the moment we discovered death. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“Well...yes.” Ben doesn’t like when he has to concede, but he knows he’s just putting off the inevitable donning of his coat at this point.

“Exactly, everyone’s thought about it. Immortality is an easy sell if we can collect some possible answers.” 

Suralinda waves her hand at his cautiously raised eyebrow. 

“Not _actual_ answers, I’m not expecting you to pull a miracle from the ether on this. But I’d like it to be a robust one. See if you can find some obscure stuff, things people won’t have heard a dozen times before. The Holy Grail isn’t the only thing out there.”

Ben has to admit, he sees what she’s saying. It’s a subject that everyone wants to know a little more about, and though he’d made the quip about preferring to hunt down neighbourhood sheet thieves, he thinks diving into some proper research sounds like a good way to escape this morning’s fresh dose of guilt. 

“Fine. This sounds like a Maz project.”

“I think you’re right. Best start with her, see what she has.”

Maz Kanata had actually been the one to get him this job. She was a common friend of his mother and Suralinda, though both knew her for entirely different reasons. Regardless, she had been someone just distant enough from Leia, and just close enough to him, to feel comfortable asking for help. She was a woman who always seemed to know more than she was letting on, so surely she would know where to send him on this goose chase.

Gathering his notebooks and satchel, he heads out. Ben never has much trouble walking around the city, as most are quick to give him room on the narrow sidewalks. It’s not a long journey to Maz’s shop; a place filled with antiques and curiosities. 

Dodging a cyclist, his general impatience wins him over and he walks halfway across the street, before waiting for the carriage to pass. The driver shouts at him, but he’s already hopping the curb and on his way. The streets are busy this morning, still early enough to see many on their way to work, totes in hand, and waistcoats perfectly pressed. Ben, on the other hand, is rarely in a perfect state these days. Is his shirt tucked in? Are his shoes not entirely caked in street grime? Good enough.

He strides down the quiet side street that hosts Maz’s shop, and spots the vibrant purple door right away. With a sigh, he gathers himself up, preparing for Maz’s inevitably invasive comments about his life. Ben spends his days skeptically researching the paranormal, but unlike Suralinda’s scandal driven interest, it’s Maz that makes him sometimes question the real possibilities of it all.

The bells hanging from the door tinkle against each other as he enters.

“Maz?”

“Ah, young Solo, back again with many questions, I expect?”

The small, heavily wrinkled woman walks up to him with her wide, considering gaze. Around her, the store feels like it too is taking him in, curiously inspecting him for intriguing changes since the last time he’d visited. It’s dense with knick knacks and brick-a-brack. Shiny metal odds and ends, with bobbles and chimes dangling chaotically from the ceiling. Feathers here, plants there, and an endless collection of books that has long since overflowed from the shelves to the floors. They’re now stacked around the edges of every piece of furniture, eagerly awaiting someone’s ownership.

“Yes, Maz. Something different from Suralinda this time. Have you got anything on immortality?”

Ben watches as a bright grin spreads across her small, puckered lips. Without a word, she pivots round and heads down between the towering shelves. Ben follows with a long, casual stride, hands in his pockets, and let his eyes roam, looking for anything new amongst the collection of tiny mysteries. There is plenty he hasn’t seen before, which is always the case with this place. From down the end of the shop, he hears a shuffling of papers and a thunk as something heavy hits the floor.

“Are you looking for a particular kind of immortal or just in general?” She calls out.

“Uh, both? I guess I’ll start with both.” He answers absently while poking at a strange little prism of metal and stone. 

“Excellent. I won’t have to sort any of this then.”

Ben winces, regretting his choice and knowing he is likely going to spend the rest of the week combing through her dishevelled scrapbooks. When she comes back around the corner, he’s immediately proven right. In her arms is a book twice as large as any he’s read before, and under her other arm is tucked a rolled up canvas. She extends her bony arms up to him with the book, and he briefly wonders how she hefts it so easily. Taking it, he lets it fall open in his hands and begins to flip through. 

There are newspaper clippings, letters, accounting records, maps, pages from other books written down with citations, and so much more. This is not what he’d expected, even from Maz.

“Uh, this is-”

“What? You think I haven’t kept track of something like this? It doesn’t get much more generic than immortality. Almost every creature we’ve thought of has it.”

“I guess you’re right…” He mumbles, wondering how he’s going to make enough sense of all this, enough to write a coherent story. 

“I am. So every time I’ve come across something that’s caught my eye on the matter, I’ve added it here.” She prods the spine cradled in his hand. 

“There’s one thing I couldn’t fit in it though.”

Pulling the canvas from beneath her arm, she unravels it and stretches it out for viewing. Despite the bookstore itself being obnoxiously distracting, every bit of his attention is drawn to the man in the portrait. His gaze is sultry, a pale mixture of gold and green, like stars, peaking through canopy leaves as they rustle with the winds of spring. A soft looking tumble of vibrant orange hair gently falls over the side of his forehead, and there is a striking cut to his cheekbones, both poised above a fine jaw. 

The style of it is not that of portraits hung in town halls. No, this was painted by a lover. Someone who knew this man intimately and was granted insight to moments of vulnerability. It is also quite old, shown by damage in some spots, but thankfully far away from it’s focus. 

Ben stares, captivated in a way that he knows is not acceptable. The man is beautiful, there is no other way of putting it. There’s an ethereal quality to him and it’s unclear if that was just how the artist chose to portray him, or if that was truly a quality of the subject. The intensity of his gaze is suddenly shaken by the peeking of Maz’s face around it’s side. 

“Quite the looker, isn’t he?” She grins and Ben feels himself heat up with embarrassment as he hurriedly looks down at the book in his hands.

“The artist was very skilled.” He mutters as he flips some more pages, not taking in anything on them.

“Yes, most certainly.” She rolls the painting back up as she continues. “The man in the painting is someone I’ve seen come up many times in my studies. A tricky one he is, but not as interested in covering his tracks as he should be.” Tying a little red ribbon around the canvas, Ben accepts it from her. 

“I’d recommend starting with the basics, before you get to him.” 

Ben feels like he’s taking piano lessons and being warned off Mozart before he’s even learned to read sheet music. It’s just another one of Maz’s collections though, he’s always managed them just fine before.

***

Five days in and he’s still compiling notes from the monstrous quantity of information she’d given him. He’s in over his head with this one. Not because it’s impossible to understand, simply because the range is so broad. It spans continents and cultures, with several original documents he’s sure should be in a museum, instead of some strange bookshop buried in the backstreets of Philadelphia. At this point, the whole thing is becoming a bit of a slog.

With a heavy sigh, he rests an elbow on the edge of his desk and places his cheek against his palm. He’s been doing that a lot lately, sighing, moping, feeling generally quite irritated. Alright, maybe he’s been like this for a long time. Ben doesn’t feel like thinking about all the reasons why. He needs more of a distraction than he’d first thought, something to really escape into.

His eyes wander to the wall beside him, where the canvas case rests, propped up against his bag. What about that beautiful man? He’s certainly something that attracts Ben’s attention, and no one needs to know why. 

Sitting up straight, he slides in snuggly against his desk and takes a centring breath. Ben hasn’t even found him in the book yet, and so he starts turning the pages, trying to find a picture or drawing that might match the stranger’s likeness. He eventually finds something quite clear; Maz had sketched a smaller version of the portrait onto the page, and scrawled above it: “The Man of Many Names”.

His heart picks up it’s pace as he turns to the first page, and then the next, and then the next, and before long he realizes that no other section of the book is quite as extensive as this. She’s presented everything in chronological order, starting with a curious comparison between a photograph and the portrait that’s grabbed Ben’s attention. The two are clearly from decades apart, and yet she seems right, they look to be the same man. That’s hardly cause for alarm, since they could very well be relatives, but the further Ben progresses through her research, the more evidence she provides to the contrary. 

There were torn pages from the passenger manifests of boats, citing the leaving of one man, his subsequent death on board, and then the arrival on the next page showing the name of someone who certainly hadn’t boarded in the middle of the sea. The notes suggest he plays a trick like this every thirty years or so. He builds up a life in one place, then suddenly dies under mysterious circumstances. Shortly after, another man appears in his place and starts a nice life in a new city. The locations seem endless.

This isn’t something that would have been noticeable, except for the substantial art collection that follows him. There is simply no explanation for why centuries worth of men, who all seem not to have existed before the death of another, continuously die as single, untethered men, who continuously procure the same fortune. While Ben’s thoughts first go to some kind of money laundering scheme, the physical descriptions, paintings, financial records, and photographs suggest otherwise. But how, _how_ could this possibly be the work of one man? The records stretch out over more than a century, and he looks _exactly_ the same in every rendering.

Ben had gone into this article expecting to find some old folklore or conspiracy theories. Maybe some boring, overworked tales of the Fountain of Youth. But now? Ben can’t tear himself away from this. Hours pass, and it isn’t until he goes to refill the kerosene in his desk lamp that he realizes he’d forgotten all about dinner. Sneaking down to the kitchen, he finds a covered plate, cold but full, and brings it back to his room. 

He nearly forgets about the food twice more before the claws of sleep upon his body can no longer be ignored. With his gaze set upon the canvas now pinned to his wall, he drifts off into dreams of an elusive man with stars in his eyes.

***

“I’m sorry, Benjamin, but I gave you everything I have already.” Maz coos apologetically.

Ben smacks the edge of the counter, a huff of irritation leaving his nose as he looks to the floor beside them. He’d combed through every note, every image, multiple times, and still he has nothing conclusive, just supported speculation. That _is_ enough for his article, if he’s being honest, but that isn’t enough for him now. This is the first time he’s found something fantastical where the most likely answer also happens to be the wildest possibility.

“Come now, don’t look so defeated. I may not have more about the man you’re looking for, but there are plenty of books about immortality.” Her small hand reaches out to pat Ben’s arm as he looks up, a flicker of hope and excitement bringing life to his eyes that hasn’t been there in ages.

“Here, come with me.” She steps off her stool behind the counter and wanders down between the shelves. Prodding at some spines and mumbling to herself, she finally gives a quiet, “Ahh,” and pulls one out. She places it in Ben’s hands before selecting another, and another, and soon there are nearly a dozen books tucked beneath Ben’s chin. He momentarily reconsiders his interest.

“All of this is about immortality?” He asks, a disbelieving touch to his voice as he tries to straighten the stack. 

“Not exactly. Some are stories with characters who are, while others are more like reference texts.” She looks up with a gentle smile, “I thought you might like to break up the monotony with a good fairy tale now and then.”

Ben doesn’t think he will, but he lets her add another one to the pile anyway. He’s learned over the years that it’s best to let Maz do as she likes, and avoid the thwap of a hand against his head for adding haughty commentary to her choices.

“Alright, that should be everything.” She places her hands on her hips and looks up at him, the collection of volumes balanced precariously. 

“Now, plenty of reading to do, so be on your way, young Solo.” 

“Are you sure I need-”

“You will take all the books I’ve given you and study them all, is that clear?” She intercepts sternly, though Ben doesn't miss the glint in her eye.

“Fine…” He mutters, knowing better.

After leaving Maz’s shop, with his hoard of tomes now tucked safely in his bag, he briefly considers going to the library. It would make sense to take advantage of their expansive tables, but for some reason, this is starting to feel like something he doesn’t want to share yet, or maybe at all...For now, it feels best to avoid possible scrutiny and just tuck his legs in beneath his own desk instead.

It’s been about a week since Ben first laid eyes on the Man of Many Names, and still, whenever he looks at that portrait, his heart rises into his throat. It does so again as he enters his room and starts sorting through books. He glances up at it and doesn’t stop himself from staring for a moment. His eyes, the colour of ragged waves cresting against a jagged cliffside, pull him in, like a siren’s call dragging him towards briny depths. Ben shakes his head, shaggy black waves flicking over his parted lips and catching on dark lashes. He has to focus.

The books get sorted into two piles. One for titles he’d been forced to take, and the other for ones he’d wanted to. The former are promptly dumped back into a bag. Looking through the pile that remains, most of the books are at least a decade old, but there is one modern binding that stands out to him. It’s pale blue with an embossed title inked in silver: The Pursuit of Immortality. 

Simple and straightforward. Ben likes that. 

Taking the book to his desk, he checks the time. It’s barely past noon, so he pushes aside the wick lamp from last night's readings. Opening to the table of contents, he begins to skim the list. It seems to have sections broken up by cultures, each one presenting the kinds of myths or legends that exist within. But as he reads through each chapter, it becomes more than just a collection of stories. The author has been thorough, and followed the explanation of each belief with an amalgamation of research on the hunt for never ending life in each region, right up to modern times. Flipping back to the cover of the book, Ben sees the name Percival Jones scrawled across it.

Despite the absurdity of the contents, the author presents everything with academic confidence. He speaks about it like one would matters of unobjectionable science, as if he isn’t discussing laughably unlikely things. 

While on the surface it appears the author is sympathetic towards and intrigued by the studies of his peers, Ben can’t help but notice a patronizing lilt subtly hidden in the wording here and there. It makes him squint at the pages, looking for places where the author lets his condescension slip through. It becomes somewhat of a scavenger hunt as he parses each chapter. By the end, he’s fairly certain Percival has secretly written this entire thing with a smug smirk plastered across his face. It’s subtle, the attempts to hide it not completely fruitless, but Ben can see it tucked behind the praise of his closing statements. 

Rather than feeling deterred, Ben feels challenged by the discovery of it. He finds himself beginning to argue on the side of the researchers, against a man he’s never even met. Confrontation has always been one of his quickest responses to any situation. It seems arguments in his head with faceless people are no exception. 

When the sun is long past the horizon, and the lamp light sputtering inside it’s glass chimney, Ben finally closes the book and sits back, his arms crossed. He stares at the cover, eyes passing over the shimmering silver name. Ben wants to prove him wrong. 

Sliding out the drawer beside him, he pulls out a bundle of papers and wets the nib of his pen moments later. It takes the better part of an hour and several wasted sheets before he feels like he’s said everything he wants to. Rereading it, his jaw tenses and he begins to question his words, but looking at how much of his lamp oil has already been used and the pitch of the night sky outside, he thinks better of starting over and slides the letter into an envelope. In the morning, it will be on it’s way to Percival Jones.


	2. Chapter 2

**London, Late April, 1893**

Few things irritate Hux more than a witless rambler. If you can’t say something interesting, then don’t bother saying anything at all. It’s a habit he’s found too many mortals have in their possession. It fills their conversations with superfluous details of little import, and he grew tired of hearing it so very long ago. 

In his centuries of life, it’s become very apparent just how much he has to repeat himself. Maybe that’s why he enjoys coming up with new versions of himself so much. Crafting a new identity, new stories to tell and webs to weave, is a fun game for someone with so many potential lives to live.

Right now though, he is stuck playing nice with a group who are, admittedly, useful; at least as a means to an end. The fire crackles warmly beside them, allowing him to relax his methods of feigning a living body temperature. About the room is a collection of selectively invited guests, ladies dressed in their evening finest, and gentlemen with their waistcoats a little too snug from a good gorging on dinner. He had, as usual, arrived  _ after _ dinner, with the subject of the party, now set up across from his place upon the hearth.

People always questioned how he got his hands on such stunning paintings, originals from eras past. His collection is littered with artists whose names grace only history books and gallery walls now. He always makes up some story to suffice, not always  _ too _ far from the truth, unless he feels like really having a go at someone. 

This particular masterpiece is called  _ Madonna of the Amaryllis _ , a gorgeous oil painting of a dark haired woman in a long white gown. She’s leaning over with an urn, about to gather water from a fountain ringed with beautiful red flowers.

Hux has no questions regarding why the host of the party, Mr. Harris, has decided to purchase this particular painting. It isn’t about the way her skirt spins about her legs, like smoke curling up from a snuffed wick. It isn’t even about how the artist has taken special care to create startlingly realistic reflections of each individual bloom of amaryllis upon the waters surface. Their petals look soft enough to touch. No, he’s bought this painting entirely because the neckline of her dress plunges lower than is strictly proper. Mr. Harris’s wife seems quite aware of her husband’s reasoning, and she clearly isn’t pleased about it. But that is none of his concern. It has already been paid for in full.

He can’t help but feel a twinge of irritation though, despite his better judgement. He doubts a single person here appreciates the stories this painting tells. His stormy eyes trail over the bold blooms as he recalls the tale that provided them their name: A woman aching for the love of a cold and distant man pierces her heart with a golden arrow. Aching for him, she visits him with her show of devotion each day until he falls for her. It’s all quite charming, but what makes Hux tilt his head in consideration is that with every day's journey, her bleeding heart dripped blood upon her path, birthing the blossoms of her namesake. A beautiful tale, that also makes him a little hungry. 

It’s getting on in the evening now, and Hux is simply eyeing the clock until a sufficient amount of time has passed for him to leave. He has to wait a polite amount of time before leaving, as he has no interest in damaging a relationship with such a well paying patron. 

He had hoped that someone would catch his eye tonight, or at least his ear, but no such person has gained his attention. A dinner party full of people with pockets deep enough to swim in, and not a single person of interest in the lot. You’d think wealth would make for a dynamic life, full of well travelled experiences, but that is rarely the case. A life free of base struggles means their problems are usually created entirely by their own entitlement and attempts to keep what little power they have within their clutches. He could only go so many generations hearing about the repetitive minutiae of current economics and petty affronts, before they all blended together. Mortals approach each piece of news as if it is unique, something special to their time on earth, but Hux has been around long enough to see the patterns present themselves with obnoxious clarity. It’s quaint, but not in any way charming. Ignorance never is.

Finally, the clock chimes ten and Hux lets out a sigh of relief as he steps off the hearthstone and onto the hardwood. His heels clack across the floor as he makes his way over to Mr. and Mrs.Harris.

“A lovely evening courtesy of you both, but I must be on my way now.” How bows his head politely to them. “I hope you enjoy the wonderful new addition to your collection.” 

Hux had intended for that to be it and head on his way, but Mr. Harris, cheeks flushed with drink and stretched by the smile upon his lips, has more to say. 

“Mr. Anderson!” Yet another one of his many aliases is projected boisterously towards him.

Mr. Harris reaches out and claps a meaty paw down on Hux’s shoulder, while the other forcibly wrangles his hand into a hearty shake. Hux’s entire body tightens. He hasn’t bothered to put energy back into heating his chilled flesh since leaving the fire. His skin is like cloth, quickly shedding it’s heat once a source has left its presence.

“She’ll be the pride of my collection.” Harris leans in with a bottle brush brow, pulled high towards his receding hairline. His voice takes on the qualities of a stage whisper. 

“And if you come across any other  _ fine _ pieces on your travels, do let me know, hmm?” 

If there had been anything in Hux’s stomach to turn, the smirk he is given certainly would have tumbled it. He smiles weakly back, the corner of his lip twitching as he feels the intense desire to break Harris’s wrist just to be free of him. 

“I’ll keep you informed.”

With a bright grin, Harris finally lets go, and for a moment Hux has to subdue the idea of snapping his wrist anyway. But then Harris pauses, his bristled brow lowering in tepid confusion. He looks down at his hand, opening and closing it.

“My goodness, Anderson, no wonder you were standing so near the fire. You’re absolutely frigid.”

Hux’s smile tightens even further.

“I’ve always had circulation issues. No need to worry, I survive with plenty of blankets at night. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way. Goodnight.” Hux doesn’t wait for a goodbye this time.

Within moments, he is back at the edge of a London street. Yes, he can hail a carriage for a quicker trip home, but right now he needs the crisp evening air. His irritation is burbling like a pot at the edge of boiling, and he needs to bring himself down. With a deep breath, he focuses on the steady pace of each step carrying him home, away from idiots with no concept of personal space and little more than a giggle to make themselves seem entertaining. He hates parties like this. 

The streets are quiet besides the passing of pubs along his way. Street lamps and a fine spring mist provide a much better atmosphere in his opinion. Thinking of the tense moment from his goodbye, Hux reminds himself that the memory of his chilled hand will probably never cross Harris’s mind again. Mortals are so absorbed with themselves, so comfortable with the idea that they are the apex predator, that their perception is barely better than that of a blind rat.

At one point in time, more than a century and a half past, what had just transpired in the sitting room of Mr. and Mrs. Harris’s home would have given him many a sleepless day. He would have poured over the possible scenarios in which they obsessed over the detail of his clammy hand as much as he did over their thoughts about it. He would nearly have driven himself mad with plans, wondering how to silence them as discreetly as possible. And not just his own mistakes would have brought up such a reaction in him, no, that had been his unlife’s entire focus: To resolve the mistakes of his kindred and to protect the secrecy of their species. Thank the seven hells he’s done with that.

His position in The First Order had been unshakeably secure. He was good at every aspect of what he did there, from paperwork and delegation, to tracking and erasure. But as the decades passed, it became clearer and clearer that what motivated him more than anything was fear. The idea that what he had gained since his Embrace could all be undone by some imbecilic new welp, had put him in a constant state of anxiety. Just some poor person, abandoned by an irresponsible sire, to tear apart any living thing unlucky enough to cross its path. It had happened more than once.

At first, other things like success and power distracted him enough from how much stress he was under, until he’d realized that it had consumed him entirely. Hux had been so efficient at his job, so thorough and abrupt in his efforts to squash every possible breaking of the Masquerade, that it was rare anything ever actually came of a mishap. But every once in a while, luck stops being your friend. For Hux, that had happened in the form of someone deciding it would be fun to turn a clergyman.

To say the minister had simply taken his transition badly would be a gross, and truly reprehensible understatement. Not only had the sire found the hunger of a newly Embraced priest immeasurably entertaining, he did nothing to supply the poor man with the blood needed to keep him sane in the hours that followed his transformation. Being someone who sought power over his community more than good faith, it was just more bad luck that his faith was only surface deep. He might have had a chance otherwise.

Unfortunately, the travesty didn’t stop there. The priest had been pointed in the direction of his congregation's homes, as the hunger consumed him with each starving second. His sire cackled at the sheer desperation in him, watching as he stumbled like a newly birthed fawn towards their open windows. 

The massacre had been immense, but not complete, because once his belly was filled with the hot, crimson blood of those he carefully manipulated, his senses slowly returned to him. Three children were left in the second house he’d broken into, two more and their parents scattered about the floor around him. He’d felt their blood sliding down his chest. 

Apparently, the realization of what he’d done was enough to snap his mind in half. All at once, he quite thoroughly believed in his God, now knowing the devil to be real as he grinned coldly at him from a perch upon the fence outside. Within a matter of seconds, he’d thrown himself into the hearth. Like a beacon of holy retribution, he flung himself through the streets, ablaze, until the fire consumed him in the town square. 

Hux had been aghast at the story. It was told to him by the kindred that had caused the whole thing, who was chained upon his knees before Hux, for judgement. The blood in Hux’s own belly threatened to turn itself onto the cobblestone at the scale of this mess. He’d immediately begun barking out orders to those under his command, mind scrambling for purchase on a resolution to this profoundly out of control situation. But he was interrupted by the sound of laughter.

Hux stopped abruptly, his fury rising above any sense of duty and urgency as his irises began to redden and turn upon their captive. But, before he could tear off the man’s head, the negligent sire spoke.

“You don’t have to lift a finger. They all think he had rabies.”

That had, unexpectedly, dropped the entire foundation of his unlife into an abyss he hadn’t realized he was so treacherously treading above. 

For years, he lived strictly by the codes meant to keep them all safe, from being hunted and overwhelmed by the sheer number of mortals in comparison to their population. He carefully policed not only his actions, but those of every vampire protected under The First Order. They glamoured people into states of lunacy so that mortals wouldn’t believe them, they forcibly bonded people to their sides to stop them from speaking out, they even killed and covered it up if that became necessary. And despite all that, here this man was before him, stating that even with the most vicious and obvious display of their existence, mortals had chosen to believe what let them sleep at night. 

The results of that night had seen him putting forward his resignation. The shock on the elder’s faces was something he’d privately revelled in. They had reluctantly accepted, and what he would never forget was the rush of absolute giddiness it gave him. He managed to contain it long enough to step outside their sanctum and into the courtyard. At first he worried about being seen, but then it hit him: He didn’t have to care anymore.

He had laughed like a madman and threw his hands towards the moon, as if feeling it’s blessed glow upon his skin for the first time. 

And here he is again, eyes cast up to the fullness of her face, but with far less joy. Hux sighs heavily, his eyes flicking towards the street sign that marks the last turn before his front door is in sight.

Many decades have now passed since his days with The First Order, and to say his philosophies have changed would be putting it lightly. The more he interacts with humans, the more he comes to realize just how unobservant they are. Many of them have a tendency to choose ignorant bliss over self preservation. It has, in fact, led to a degree of recklessness in himself that he would once have admonished in others. Well, that may again be putting it lightly. 

A surprising amount of his vampiric abilities, if witnessed, can be passed off as an active interest in the study of stage magic, or casually proclaimed as an illness of little worry. It has long since become apparent that people will, if presented with a mind bending question, almost always cling to the simplest answer when the reality is too difficult to swallow.

In his time since leaving the order, Hux has come to the uncomfortable realization that he might understand, to some extent, the motivation behind that terrible sire’s horrific decision. Boredom and isolation are perhaps the biggest threats to their sanity. 

His mind has wandered far and wide tonight, but finally it settles as he walks up to his front door. Plucking a collection of envelopes from the mailbox, Hux unlocks his front door and heads in, shuffling through the letters.

It isn’t until he’s hung up his coat and wandered into the study that he tears one open. With a chuckle, he reads the letter, it’s contents commending him for the quality of his recent publication: The Pursuit of Immortality. 

It is great fun for an idle mind to see what conspiracies fill peoples’ minds, while knowing the truth they cannot fathom. He did not, of course, include any mentions of the Kindred or the Embrace in his book. He may feel dull from day to day, but he isn’t a fool with a death wish. 

In all his years upon this glorious earth, the only path to true immortality he has ever come across is the Embrace. It’s a gift that is rarely given, and with much scrutiny. There are harsh and immediate punishments for those who give it indiscriminately, without approval of their respective counsel. 

Sitting at his desk, the lamps lit, he settles in to browse through the rest of his mail before moving on with his plans for the night. Some are about specific myths he’d discussed, others are arguing which theories had been further debunked, and one even speaks of their own personal theory involving the consumption of a truly rancid concoction of ingredients.

The last envelope, as unassuming as the rest, opens easily under the drag of a short blade across it’s seam. Unfolding it’s contents, Hux begins to read:

**_To Mr, Percival Jones_ **

**_Dear Sir,_ **

**_I am writing to you in regards to your book, “The Pursuit of Immortality”. It was recommended to me by a friend for an article I am working on. I’m employed by an unconventional paper which collects stories and theories of the paranormal. We’re based in Philadelphia, in America, as I suspect you’re unfamiliar with our work. I admit that I don’t always believe in what I’m asked to research, but I’ve recently discovered something exceptionally unnerving._ **

**_Enclosed, you will find a small recreation of a painting I genuinely believe might be of an immortal Man. I understand your book is purely theoretical, and there is an element of patronizing egotism to it that I think some might miss, but if you have any real curiosity about the possibility of immortality, please hear me out._ **

**_I have acquired a collection of photographs, news clippings, ship manifests, letters, records of sale for various artistic works-_ **

Hux stops, his brows dipping slowly towards the bridge of his nose as a tightness begins to grow in his gut.

_**...And a single oil painting. All of them span centuries and seem to be from, or about, the same man. I realize that sounds insane, but I promise you, I wouldn’t be sending this if I didn’t believe what I’m saying. I also have to be honest, his trail is not easy to follow. He doesn’t use the same name, but I swear, his trail leads to the images and events I have recorded. I’m sure even you cannot argue with a photograph. It’s just too possible to be ignored.** _

_**I’ve only sent you a replicant drawing of the man in question because I am not willing to part with my findings. For all I know, you’ll throw this away without even reading it. I can’t take that risk. But if, for even a moment, you want to know more about what I’ve learned, please entertain the idea that he is really what I think he is, and if I’m right, please help me find him.** _

_**Humbly yours,** _

_**Kylo Ren** _

Hux rereads the letter, and feels himself trip over the list of sources again. It’s that mention of art that’s bothering him. Whenever he’s pulled off another disappearing trick, he’s always had his collection rerouted back to him. It has never been a problem before, just some careful work from his accountant, Dopheld Mitaka, and a few newly minted signatures. But what if...

He’s being ridiculous. There’s no way this random man in America knows anything about him...and yet the specificity of it...No, it’s just a coincidence. What are the chances of someone writing to  _ him _ about  _ himself. _ Yes, he’d maybe invited the possibility closer with his book, but no, no, the picture is probably of some old man he’s never seen before.

With a huff of irritation, directed more at himself than anything, Hux pulls out the last piece of the letter…

And stares down at a drawing of himself.

*******

A fine purple skirt flutters from the tug of a startled hand, a young woman yelping at the sudden bang of a door hitting the wall behind her. She glares at the tight jawed, ginger haired man who storms into The Charmed Dahlia, his heels clacking with an urgent stride across the hardwood.

“Phasma!” He shouts, bypassing spectacles of lust and elegance as he makes his way through the halls. He moves with such speed and intensity that couples and trios scurry aside to make way. Finally, he comes to a grand looking set of mahogany doors and throws them open.

Sitting on a soft grey, velvet chaise, a journal and pen in hand, his closest friend looks up with a flick of her pale blond hair from her eyes. She looks confused at his sudden presence, which he knows is unexpected.

“Hux? What are you do-?” 

She’s cut off by the slam of both doors and the purposeful strides he takes towards her, all punctuated by the tossing of papers into her lap. Leaning back, she looks between them and Hux’s troubling expression, before slowly picking them up. Phasma takes her time reading the letter, her confusion still evident, until she sees the drawing. Her posture grows tense, like a rabbit that’s caught the scent of a predator in the brush. Looking cautiously back at Hux, she turns the picture to face him.

“Is this the painting Anthony did of you?” 

Hux is starting to worry he may permanently damage his teeth if he doesn’t stop grinding them.

“Yes.” He bites out, shaking with the adrenaline that’s running through him.

Phasma’s eyes go back to the letter as she places the picture on the empty tea tray beside her. A chilled silence settles around them as she reads it a second time and begins to shake her head. 

“I told you this was going to come back to bite you, Hux.”

He throws his hands up in the air and turns away from her, pacing behind the opposing couch. 

“Yes! I’m aware!”

Phasma gives him a moment, watching him walk back and forth with the energy of a bee trapped inside a glass. 

“Well now it has, so what am I going to do about it?” He huffs.

Phasma’s brows rise towards her hairline.

“Oh, so you’re here seeking my advice. I’m surprised your pride didn’t stop you from coming at all.” Hux gives her a nasty little squint and curl of his lip, before returning to his pacing, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

“I’ve never had someone get this close before. It’s been  _ centuries. _ ”

“Yes, and you stopped bothering to properly cover your tracks decades ago. That’s more than enough time for someone to catch on, my dear. And then that book? Really?”

“I didn-” His hands come up to either side, fingers poised like talons to the ornately carved ceiling. He takes a deep breath, before losing his temper on the one person who might actually help him. 

“It’s out there in the world, I can’t take it back, and now we’re talking about dealing with it. _ ” _

Leaning back in her seat, she presses her fingers to her temple.

“So, somehow this man has gotten his hands on what sounds like one of Mitaka’s old ledgers. I’d be willing to bet it’s the one he lost when he was mugged in Paris. And now, it’s kick started this man’s collection of your life, it seems.” She gestures to the papers. “You’re lucky it sounds like he’s just stumbled on the whole thing and isn’t a proper hunter.”

Hux opens his mouth to answer, but Phasma cuts him off with a raised finger.

“And can I just say, the sheer bad luck that he’s managed to pull your book out of a pile and send  _ you _ all this, after tempting fate like you have, _ ”  _ She shakes her head with a look of feigned awe. “Poetry like this only presents itself once in a dozen life times.”

Hux growls and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Alright, I’ve had my fun with you. You can relax. We’ll figure it out.” She places an elbow on the arm rest and presses a knuckle to her cheek. With a heavy sigh, Hux finally comes around and sits with poor posture upon the seat across from her, looking exhausted already.

“Now, there’s two ways you could approach this. You could write him back saying you don’t believe a word he’s said and neither should he, or, you can try and convince him to send you what he has, and of course just never give it back. Then all he has is his own word, which no one will believe, and you’ll have everything you need.” 

Hux takes a deep breath, mulling over the choices she’s presented to him. With a slow nod, his eyes look towards the ceiling, processing the most immediate issues and weighing out the gains. 

“Alright, I am leaning towards the latter. I would prefer he not get too vocal, or write this article about me he’s intending to. He could attract the attention of a hunter who knows what to look for. If he has no proof, they wouldn’t waste their time, but from the sounds of it…” His eyes drift down to the letter, reciting it in his head.

“That seems like the wiser, though harder, approach, yes.” She nods back, just once.

Hux rubs a hand up over his face and through his hair, laying his head back to stare at the carvings above him. His tone changes to one much more tired and reflective.

“I spent all those years punishing people for these kinds of mistakes, and now here I am.” He pauses and squints, though not to focus on the cherubs amongst the ewes above him. 

“It is rather poetic, but I’d prefer the universe chose other methods of expression next time.” He mutters out.

Phasma chuckles and sits forward, plucking the picture from the tea tray and sliding it, and the letter, across the table to him. 

“I also advise that you answer as quickly as possible. This isn’t something to leave lingering.”

Hux sits up properly and takes the papers, folding and tucking them into his lapel pocket. 

“Yes, you’re right. I’ll be off then. Have a good evening, Phasma. And as always, thank you for your council.” He stands, and gives her a short nod before heading to her office doors.

“And Hux?” 

He looks over his shoulder to her as he places a hand on the doorknob.

“Don’t scare my patrons so much next time, or it’ll be your arse I’m spanking.”

Hux gives a snort, the two of them exchanging amused looks before he leaves, thoughts of the letter and all it implies consuming his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Philadelphia, Mid May, 1893**

With a heavy sigh over the ache in his back, entirely from hunching over his desk all day, Ben hangs up his light coat in the entryway. Just as he begins to untie his shoes, his friendly landlady, Ms. Ferguson, pokes her curly brown head out of the sitting room. 

“Hello there, Mr. Solo. I’m making some stew for dinner. Think you’ll be joining us or shall I put some aside for you?”

Ben gives her a polite press of his lips in what is supposed to be a smile, but it comes across more as a grimace before he quickly returns his gaze to his shoes. 

“Just stopping in to clean up. I’ve got dinner with my mother tonight.” 

Ms. Ferguson frowns, a pitying look Ben purposely avoids acknowledging. 

“Alright dear, there’ll be some leftovers for when you’re home if you like.” She knows full well what kind of mood Ben will be in after visiting his mother. She doubts he’s even made it through a whole meal with Leia since the incident with the mayor’s son. Turning to leave him with his difficult evening, she catches herself and pops back out for a final note.

“Oh, there’s some mail on the table for you there. And best of luck with dinner.” Her tone is sympathetic, comforting, and Ben struggles with either accepting her kindness or telling her to stop looking at him like a wounded animal about to be taken out back.

Finishing with his shoes, he picks up the letter on the table as thoughts of his mother’s impending lectures fall away. He’s been watching every day for a letter with “Percival Jones” written into the corner since he sent his request a month ago. Scooping his satchel up, he follows the motion through, bounding up the staircase to his room. 

With the door shut behind him and an opener in hand, he deftly slits the envelope across the seam. The first thing Ben notices is the quality of the paper and its swooping handwriting; much more refined than his chunkier scrawl. But that’s all secondary to whatever has actually been written in it. With his heart pounding in anticipation of Percival’s response, he begins to read. 

**_Mr. Ren,_ **

**_I would first like to thank you for your interest in my book. Of all the letters I have received since its release, yours is certainly the most intriguing. While I have not come across this man in my studies, the volume of evidence you report having sounds like it is more than worthy of my consideration._ **

**_I am very interested in getting a deeper understanding of what you have collected. Is this something you alone have been accumulating or is there assistance from your colleagues? How long have you been working on following this man’s life? Do you have any idea of where he might be now?_ **

**_Would you be able to provide me with details or even the records themselves so that I may perform my own research? I will, of course, reciprocate this welcome invitation to share knowledge and provide you with my own findings as well._ **

**_I look forward to hearing back and investigating this fascinating mystery with you._ **

**_Regards,_ **

**_Percival Jones_ **

Ben’s breathing is drawn out, his eyes racing across the page through a second reading. He doesn’t only sound interested, he sounds eager. It’s all he’d hoped for, someone to believe he’d found something worthwhile this time. After years of trying to hide from the cackling superiority of those who saw his fall from potential grace, someone with an ounce of credibility has deemed his investigation valid.

Looking up at the clock, there’s only another hour before he’s got to be at his mother’s, and far less before Maz locks up her shop for the night. Without bothering to wash up, he hurriedly folds the letter and tucks it into his back pocket. In only a few minutes, he rushes out into the strikingly twilight drenched streets of Philly. 

When he rounds the final corner to Max’s shop, he sees the small woman fiddling with a dense ring of keys. The closed sign is already turned in the window.

“Maz! Maz!” He shouts, waving to get her attention. There’s a snap of relief when her large eyes look up to him through dense spectacles.

“Oh, Ben, what can I do for you at this hour?”

Panting, he bounds to a halt before her and barely takes a breath before speaking.

“You remember the books you gave me last month? Well, I took your advice and sent out some letters to their authors.” He reaches into his pocket and holds the folded letter up for her to see. She smiles brightly at his accomplishment, and he can’t help but feel rewarded by it.

“That’s wonderful. What have they said to you?” 

Rather than hand it over, Ben opens the letter and reads it out to her. Passers by frown at him for blocking the sidewalk with his broad frame with little consideration for their shoes, now dipping into the gutter. Ben ignores them. As he dictates, Maz nods along to Percival’s words, and continues to do so thoughtfully as Ben looks to her for a reaction. 

“This sounds very promising. It will be good for you to have a companion in this study.” Ben chooses to ignore the implication she is making. His solitary lifestyle and lack of significant relationships shouldn’t matter with this. It’s about uncovering the identity of this man, not about finding anything more than that. 

“Would you help too? To find out where he is? No one has connections like you do, Maz.” His intensity would be overbearing to most as he looms over the tiny woman, but she simply smiles up at him, broader than before, and pats his leg. 

“Of course I will. I’ll send out some letters in the morning and let you know if anything comes of them.” That feeling of relief hits him again. Ben knows he can’t do this without her.

“Thanks, Maz. Let me know if you need any help. Even if it’s just keeping an eye on the shop while you’re looking into something, alright?”

Maz gives a laugh and waves him off. 

“Don’t you worry about that. I haven’t seen you this excited since you were a boy. That’s prize enough. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m getting a little peckish.” She peers up at him over the rim of her glasses, and all at once Ben feels himself deflate at the reminder of dinner. He’s supposed to be arriving at his mother’s any minute now.

Maz notices the sudden shift in his demeanour, the clouding of his expression, and the sagging of his hands, still clinging to the inked paper between them. 

“Is something wrong?”

“I, uh, I’m going to be late for dinner with mom.”

Maz takes a deep breath and gives him a considerate look. Ben is thankful not to see pity in it like all the others.

“You know, you two are alike in all the ways that make loving each other hard. She wants what’s best for you, but I don’t think either of you know what that is yet.”

The knot in Ben’s gut tightens and rises into his throat. Maz’s insight has always had a way of knocking him off kilter. Ben clears his throat and pockets the letter.

“I’m going to head over. Have a good night, Maz.”

“You too, young Solo.” A smile softens her deeply wrinkled features.

*******

Ben doesn’t walk to the front door immediately. Instead, he stares up at his childhood home from the walkway. These are the only times he comes anywhere near it now. At one point, he felt excited to come home and relax after a long day at school. All he wants is to go back to his room and answer Percival’s letter. He doesn’t want to go through more play acting, like everything is okay, like he hadn’t crushed her heart that day.

With a straightening of his spine, he approaches the door and knocks. Within seconds, the door opens, his mother standing there in a more casual gown than she would wear out to one of her protests. Elegant pearls drip from her ears, complimenting the silver of her hair, woven up into a bundle of braids. She gives him a smile, but he can see it’s pinched at the corners, as it has been for the last several years. 

“Evening, mother.” He says, voice quiet and deep. 

“Evening Ben, come in, come in. Threepio’s already dressed the table with dinner.” She moves aside and after removing his shoes, they both head into the dining room.

“Master Solo, such a delight to see you again.” Threepio chirps as he looks up from filling their plates with what looks to be roast and an assortment of vegetables. A still steaming pie wafts it’s mouth watering scent across the room, telling him it’s cherry; his favourite. 

“Good to see you too, Threepio.” Ben answers, his voice a little less void this time. Threepio hadn’t changed the way he acted around him, despite the tension that always swam about the room with Leia and himself in it, like piranha waiting for first blood. 

The chair squeals a little too loud as he draws it out, and watches his mother wince. He takes his time lowering himself into it after that, as if sitting too quickly could induce a finger twitch upon a trigger. 

They both begin to eat in silence, and Ben struggles not to think of how much he misses Threepio’s cooking. But those times are gone now. This isn’t some cozy spring evening like it once could have been. 

“How’s work?” Leia asks, cutting through a piece of her roast.

He knew she’d ask, and still it drops his stomach, making him pause with the fork on it’s way to his mouth. 

“Fine, readership was down for a bit with the worst of winter, but it’s coming back up and headed for a good summer now.” 

Leia hums and nods, finishing a mouthful as Ben stares at his plate, meat wilting from his fork into the potatoes. 

“You know, I was speaking with Luke the other day, and he was saying he knows a lawyers office downtown that’s looking for-”

Ben’s fork clatters loudly against the edge of his plate as he drops his elbows onto the heavy table, pressing his palm heels to his eyes.

“It hasn’t even been five minutes, mom.”

Leia bristles before leaning on the table, fork and knife still in hand, attempting to look up at his covered face. Her voice comes out quiet and harsh.

“Well if you’d just  _ listen _ to me for once, and meet with-”

Ben throws his hands up to either side, still refusing to look at Leia. 

“And what then? They have me on and only keep me around until a couple of thugs pull them aside one night? That’s all it takes, mom. Mayor Davis finds out I’m working anywhere with an ounce of clout and I’m done. There’s no  _ coming out of this. _ ”

Leia sits back, lips pressed into a tight line in front of clenched teeth. The silence hangs between them, like a wine glass teetering on the edge of a table, not yet certain if it will settle or shatter. Leia’s lips move far less than they should as she speaks next.

“You brought this upon yourself and all you do is get angry at me for trying to fix things. You don’t even try.” She shakes her head, the pearls swinging against her neck. “You just sit in a dingy room, work a ludicrous job, and wallow, instead of  _ doing  _ anything about your situation.” 

Ben throws back the chair as he stands abruptly, his large hands slamming down onto the crisp white tablecloth.

“Would you have me go after him then? Hmm? Find Davis’ men and cut them all down like cows to slaughter? Punch out the rest of his son’s teeth until they’re scared of  _ me _ for a change? I  _ want to. _ ” He bites, half the candles between them going out with the force of his exasperated fury. 

Leia is seething. She wears it plainly for him to see, in a way no one else does. It’s deceptively calm, and he can see her calculating her response, but he knows he’s a soft spot. Despite her wit, emotions win out when it comes to him. Which means her words always cut deeper than anyone else’s.

“Well at least that would be more than you’re doing now.”

She doesn’t flinch when Ben’s plate explodes against the wall of the dining room. 

Ben is through the front door in seconds, the smell of untouched cherry pie lingering behind him.

*******

There’s a crispness filling the night’s air that he needs right now, because he feels like everything is on fire. His body, his life, his future. Just burning uncontrollably while people scream at him to put them out with nothing but his hands. 

He can’t keep thinking about this. Can’t keep living like this, with nothing but powerless rage and guilt ripping into his skin like wolves upon a struggling stag. No, he needs to find some other way to live, some way out of all this, to be more than any of them have decided they can make him be, and yet...all he can do is get up the next morning, and go to work. 

The fires flicker out and he comes to a stop beneath the shadow of the cloud covered moon. His breathing is ragged, adrenaline still thrumming through him despite the overwhelming sense of helplessness. 

He then remembers what he’d been looking forward to. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the letter and begins to walk again. Right, he has other things to focus on. There’s work to do, and if he’s right, maybe it will be his ticket out of all this.

When he gets home, the other house residents haven’t even finished their dinner, the stew pot sitting in the centre of the table. A surprised Ms. Ferguson tells him she’s already put a hot bowl aside for him with some bread. He wordlessly retrieves it before disappearing into his room, as she looks on with that same sad expression. 

Ben doesn’t even bother to eat first, instead he pulls out his ink pot and papers and begins to write while dipping his bread into the flavourful gravy. He likes having proper questions to answer, but it takes him time to compile everything he’s gathered in the past six weeks. It would be tedious if not for the obsessive and methodical way in which he’s done so. Hours pass and he only realizes it’s far beyond midnight when he’s finally done. 

Ben anxiously seals the bulk of information into an envelope, praying the seal holds up in it’s travels because it’s the only size he has. He tucks it into his bag for the next day and lays flat on his back, not even properly dressing for bed. 

Staring at the ceiling, his mind reels from the flurry of details running through it. He needs to calm down, to relax his mind and body or he won’t be able to get up in time for work. 

Looking over at the painting still pinned to his wall, he lets his thoughts settle into simpler curiosities as his eyes roam over the beautiful features. Who are you? Where are you? Do you have family? Do they judge you for the mistakes you’ve made too? Did you find someone who knows the worst sides of you, your secrets? Someone who cherishes them as much as they do you?

Ben thinks living for eternity must be lonely, and he feels a sense of camaraderie with the man he’s slowly constructing in his mind. Maybe he’d be thankful to be caught, to have someone like Ben who wants to know everything about his many lives and how he got them. Just someone to talk to who genuinely wants to listen. 

The longer he stares at the portrait, the more his chest aches, and the more Ben longs to touch the striking hollow of his cheek, those delicate, pale lashes. 

With a shaky exhale, Ben’s hand slides beyond the waist of his loosened trousers. The weight of his cock as it hardens brings a tint of shame to his cheeks. He quickly tries to subdue it with the imagined comfort of the ginger haired man taking him in hand instead. He closes his eyes and sinks into the fantasy like hot water over aching muscles. 

When he comes, it’s to the thought of those decadent lips against his, and a hand he’s never seen teasing him into ecstasy. Within moments of cleaning himself up, Ben finally slips into a peaceful slumber, the blankets still bundled beneath him. 


	4. Chapter 4

**London, Early June, 1893**

Rain patters against the curve of Hux’s umbrella as puddles form beneath his feet on the cobblestone of the square. In the north-west corner, boxed in at a right angle by two grander facades, stands a tall, narrow home. It’s most notable feature is simply how unassuming it is amongst its neighbours, while nestled in amongst the shadows. It was once the residence it still seemed to be, but had long ago been repurposed as the London Library, created for those who found it’s competition too pretentious. This of course means that it is closed at such a late hour, but that doesn’t matter to Hux. 

Stepping up to the front door, he takes the hefty knocker in hand, and twists it to the side, revealing a much more reasonably sized one beneath. Striking the wood in a specific pattern, he waits. Within seconds, the latch clicks, and the door swings open of its own accord. Shaking off his umbrella, Hux steps in and closes the door behind him, making sure he hears the latching of the lock. 

The lights are cold, save for one lamp in the far back. It’s mounted beside an open doorway framed by a discolouration of paint, suggesting it spends little time uncovered by the adjacent bookshelf. The wick holds steady, and guides him through the silent rows as a welcoming beacon. Though welcomed here is the last thing he feels. 

Descending the winding steps, encased in stone, Hux finally comes to his destination with a pause. Grand doors stand before him that bring back too many unhappy memories. With a tight jaw and a deep breath, he enters the Court of The First Order. 

It’s simply not as grand as it once was. While the great hall used to house many a gratuitous celebration, with lavish theatrical displays and many a willing meal, that was before Supreme Leader Snoke became the sole leader of the First Order in England. 

It had once been led by a council of three, but horrific ends had befallen the other two elders, and rather than replace them as would normally be the custom, Snoke had used his considerable power to subdue any who sought a seat on the council. And so, the court lost it’s flush of excitement. The enjoyment of the kindred had moved largely into The Charmed Dahlia now. Phasma had seen an opportunity, and taken it. He respected her greatly for her foresight and ambition. 

Now, the halls are palely lit, and the handful of scholarly looking inhabitants don’t even bother to glance up at him. It suits him just fine. He prefers to make this quick and quiet. 

Crossing the aged carpets and marble tile, he stops outside the second set of double doors he’s standing before tonight. This time, two broad shouldered, brutish men stand silently beside them. Hux honestly doesn’t know why Snoke bothers with the presentation. He’s more powerful than both of these men, and so the whole attempt at intimidation falls rather flat. With a tint of irritation, he looks to one of them. 

“My name is Armitage Hux. I’ve been summoned by the Supreme Leader for an audience.” 

There was once a time when he wouldn’t have had to announce himself at all, and these men wouldn’t have pretend they could stop him from doing anything he pleased. But those times were long gone, and despite the struggles of his independence, he wouldn’t trade his freedom for the world now.

The guard Hux was speaking to nods, and opens the door into the audience chamber. It groans on it’s hinges. 

There upon his throne, raised on a dais, it’s old companions long since stripped from their places at its side, sits the Supreme Leader himself. Wizened and gnarled from a history Hux does not know, he stares at him with a perpetual glower. Hux clasps his hands around the handle of his umbrella, resting it at his back, and stops before Snoke.

“You asked to see me, Supreme Leader.”

“Yes, I did.” His voice grates like metal against stone as he sits up from a more leisurely posture. 

Around them stand the Praetorian guards, each one clothed from head to toe in vibrant red, their unique weapons relaxed but ready for the slightest provocation. They’d once been Hux’s to command too, but now he wasn’t even certain if the same people stood behind their masks.

“I’ve been told you’ve recently added the title of author to your list of accomplishments.”

Hux feels the hairs on his body stand on end. So that’s what this is about. 

“Yes, Supreme Leader, I have.”

“And that you have, for some incomprehensible reason, chosen to make this debut with a text that specifically draws attention to our kind.” The venom in his voice is accented by the reptilian way he cranes forward, talon like fingers curling around the arms of his throne. Hux swallows thickly, and holds his ground.

“You have been inaccurately informed, I’m afraid. I merely wrote about mortals' hunt for immortality. I did not, at any point, address theories regarding the Kindred or the Embrace.” 

Hux quickly sees that he’s said the wrong thing as Snoke’s malformed brow buries itself deeply against the vacant bridge of his nose.

“You think you can speak to me like you do them, as if the connection between immortality and ourselves can’t be drawn by a mere child?” The hiss, though only delivered quietly, fills the room around them.

Lifting his chin, back straighter than ever, Hux sets his jaw tightly and withholds the snap of indignation that bubbles up inside his throat.

“You,  _ Mr. Jones,  _ had best hope that no tangible problems present themselves as a result of your extreme hubris, or else I will be forced to  _ do _ something about it. And I assure you,” He pauses, leaning forward with his considerable and unnatural height, “there will no longer be leeway given for your years in service to our secrecy.” 

Hux’s mouth twitches, the wrinkle by his nose deepening briefly, “Yes, Supreme Leader.” 

Reclining upon his throne once more, Snoke looks past his rather lacking nose as if he’s snarling down at a cockroach upon his countertop. Hux feels much the same towards him, and then finally, Snoke gives a flick of his hand. Without a word, Hux spins on his heel and leaves.

***

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hux collapses with a deep groan onto his favourite chaise in Phasma’s office.

“Well what did you expect him to do? You’ve only flown freely since you left because your flippancy was nothing they didn’t see daily.”

“I really do hate when you do that.”

“What? Remind you that you’re a complete fool?”

“Yes!” He nearly shouts, tossing both hands up towards the ceiling, before letting them drop with a defeated sigh onto his chest. Phasma sighs as well, though from pity more than frustration.

“I take it you didn’t tell him about your little journalist.” 

Hux turns to look at her with a frown.

“Ah yes, and have him demand my beheading right then and there? Of course not.”

Phasma hums and nods as she crosses a leg over the other and brings up a hand to loosely cover her mouth and chin.

“How  _ is _ that going?”

Hux is silent, his lips drawn into a tight line. He keeps his eyes on the ceiling so he doesn’t have to see the way she’s about to look at him.

“I received a letter from him the other day. He told me things about myself even  _ I’d  _ forgotten.” His tone is strained, and he begins pulling at a button on his waistcoat. 

“And he has proof? Proper proof that you’ve lived for centuries?”

“He does.”

There’s a tense silence, and Hux almost wishes he could be back in Snoke’s chamber, because at least there he felt he could defend himself. Here, Phasma makes him face the fact he’s brought this onto himself.

“Well the only thing you can do now is try and get it from him. At least then, if he goes spouting things to people he won’t have your bloody financial records to back it up.” She flings a hand out to the side, trying not to let her exasperation become too clear. 

Hux gnaws on the inside corner of his mouth. Sitting up, he reaches for a unique copper decanter, encased in glass and sitting prettily on the tea table. A cork plugs a hole on the side of the glass, where it’s been filled with hot water. He tips the copper lip into his glass and out pours the warmed, viscous red liquid that gives them life. Sitting back with the stem of the glass between his fingers, he finally meets Phasma’s patient gaze.

“You think that would work? You think I could convince him to send them to me?”

“I think if ever there was a time to use that masterful fake sincerity of yours, now would be it.”

Taking a long sip of the crimson liquid, he shuffles through the possibilities of her suggestion. It could work, if Kylo is gullible enough. 

“Alright, then that’s the plan. Convince him I need to see his research to believe it, and then cut off all ties. Once I have it all, he has nothing to back himself up and that will be the end of it.”

Phasma drops her chin slowly forward, “Hopefully.”

“...Hopefully.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Philadelphia, Late June, 1893**

At first, Ben is so absorbed in what he’s reading, he doesn’t register the sound of Suralinda’s shoes clacking across the floorboards. 

“Solo! Are you reading that notebook again?”

Ben nearly jumps out of his skin and reflexively hides the book in his lap beneath the desk. His eyes slowly come up to meet Suralinda’s irritated gaze as she places her hands on his hips.

“If I’d known you’d be shirking the rest of your work for this assignment, I never would have given it to you.”

Ben sucks his lips in against his teeth, knowing full well he deserves the reprimand. This isn’t her first time telling him to put away his work on the immortal article. As the months have gone by, Ben has reviewed and reorganized every piece of information so many times it’s starting to feel memorized. But still, there’s essential pieces missing that guess work just won’t fill in. Maz has come by a couple times with another book or article here and there, but nothing profound as of yet. 

“Look, if you’re going to be this dedicated to it, then why don’t you write it already? We’ll run it in the next issue if you want.” She gestures to the hidden book, knowing full well he’s just tucked it away.

A bit of panic rises in him, so he keeps his eyes set upon the half written article he was supposed to be working on. His voice comes out a bit stilted as he tries to explain.

“I can’t. It’s not ready yet.”

Suralinda frowns again. 

“How? It’s all you’ve been doing, even when I’m not paying you to.”

Ben slowly places the book back on his desk, since hiding it is completely pointless now.

“I’m really close to figuring out the last pieces of the puzzle. If I can unravel this, it could be huge. It could make The Fringe  _ something _ to people. I just need more time with it. Maz is looking into things for me and-”

Suralinda groans and turns her side to him, pressing neatly kept nails into the bridge of her nose.

“Fine. Fine. But I need you to be turning out at least two other articles a week to keep things going here, understood?” She gives him a stern, but not entirely harsh, look.

Ben nods, his jaw set tight, as a touch of excitement thrills him at being given proper permission to focus more on the studies he wants.

“Thank you.” He nods, trying not to seem too relieved at not having to continue his weak attempts at hiding it. 

Within moments of Suralinda arriving at her desk, Ben’s attention is back on his notebook, the article beneath it already forgotten.

*******

When Ben gets home, he immediately sees the familiar envelope sitting on the side table and wastes no time in hurrying to his room with it, completely bypassing Ms. Ferguson’s hello. With it in hand, he settles onto his bed, the early summer air drifting in through the window he’d forgotten to close that morning. 

**_Dear Mr. Ren,_ **

**_Thank you for your prompt response. I have thoroughly reviewed the detailed accounts you have shared with me and I am in awe of your thorough work. If all of this is indeed the records of a single man’s life, it does make your suggestions of him being immortal seem considerably plausible._ **

**_I do have one issue though. It is, unfortunately, quite difficult for me to agree with your theories without seeing the evidence for myself. If we are to continue this correspondence and search for this mysterious man, I will need to ask that you send these records on to me for verification. I promise you, I am not looking to steal them and make your discoveries my own, I am no such charlatan. And please, do not take my request to mean I do not believe you, it is simply that I do not want to be found a fool. I’m sure you can sympathize with this desire, as it is something I think all such minds as ours wish to avoid. If anything, I am over eager to support you._ **

**_Please trust that your resources will be in good hands. I’ve enclosed the funds to have them delivered the safest and fastest way possible. I suspect a journalist’s wages are not quite enough to justify such an expense, and will happily take care of it for the pursuit of immortality._ **

**_Hope you and yours are doing well and look forward to seeing your treasures first hand._ **

**_Yours,_ **

**_Percival Jones_ **

  
  


Whereas Percival’s last letter had left him feeling excited and optimistic, this one pulls fear up from his gut and into his throat. Looking up from the letter, his eyes roam over the contents of his studies, now carefully pinned and collected about his room. They take up more space than anything else at this point. 

As his eyes land on the painting, he pauses and tries to come to terms with what’s been asked of him. It’s fair, he knows, for Percival to ask to share in his records rather than following him on blind faith. But the prospect of parting with it all, of risking it being lost or stolen on its way, makes his stomach twist itself into a knot. If he doesn’t send it though, will Percival continue to support him? Will he leave him to pursue this man on his own after all? It’s hard to see why he wouldn’t if Ben won’t show him real proof. It just makes him look like he’s losing his mind to fantasies, and of course no scholarly man would back him for long without being shown good reason. 

It comes down to one question then. Is he willing to risk the loss in order to acquire the expertise that is necessary to solve this mystery, or does he forego the essential insight that could be provided to ensure he can continue to pursue it at all? 

The moon rises, arching high overhead, and Ben finds himself unable to make a choice. Finally, he folds the letter, tucks it into his desk, and decides to sleep on it.

***

The next morning, Ben is buttoning up his collar, breakfast already eaten and bag ready for him to head to work, when Ms. Ferguson calls up to him.

“Ben, darling, there’s someone here to see you!”

Frowning, he pauses, before finishing up his shirt and sliding on his waistcoat. With his bag over one shoulder, he heads down to the front door and stops as he hears Ms. Ferguson speaking with a very familiar person.

“Maz?” He asks, stepping into her line of sight. She beams up at him.

“Good morning, Ben. I have some good news for you and thought I’d bring it over right away. I know how eager you are for it.” 

Ms. Ferguson looks on curiously as Maz offers up a small package, which Ben takes tentatively.

“What’s this?” She asks as she dusts her hands of flour from some baking. Maz smiles at her, and then gives her attention back to Ben.

“A friend of mine has been collecting what comes his way on this man you’re seeking. He sent me a copy of his journals, and says he hasn’t really had the time to sort it all out yet. But he says you’re welcome to do so in his stead if you’d like.” 

She gives a small nod of encouragement as Ben gingerly opens the package and peeks inside, where two unmarked notebooks are securely nestled. He feels a rush of adrenaline that dwarfs what’s been spurred on by his mornings coffee.

Staring into the box, he speaks with a distant tone. 

“Ms. Ferguson, could you send word to Suralinda that I won’t be at the office today. Tell her I’ve caught a lead and I’m not letting it go.”

Surprised, the flour dusted woman looks up at his almost unnervingly intense expression.

“I can, dear. Send you up some lunch then later, will I?” 

“Yes, thank you.” And with the niceties done, he turns heel and bolts back up the stairs, taking them two at a time. As soon as he dives into his room, he immediately realizes he’s forgotten something and quickly hangs back out the door. 

“Thank you, Maz!” He shouts back before disappearing with the box cradled in his hands.

Maz smiles up at where he’d been only a moment ago, fondness layn upon her features. 

“That boy has more determination in him than he might ever give himself credit for.”

Ms. Ferguson nods, looking up to the now closed door. 

“Lets just hope he remembers to eat while he’s at it.”

***

The fresh bread and well seasoned soup sit stone cold at the corner of his desk, forgotten in lue of a mess of papers he’s scattered across his quarters. Ben stands with a sheet in hand, it’s contents a record of sale. His eyes dart around the parchment upon his bed, each one much like the one he holds, hunting down a name. He knows he’s seen it before. If he can just  _ find it. _

Finally, there it is.

_ Madonna of the Amaryllis. _

***

Suralinda is busy typing away when the door of her office flies open. She jumps in surprise at the sudden sight of Ben standing in the doorway, looking out of breath. Gathering her wits back together she looks at him with confusion.

“Ben? I was just about to head home for the evening. I thought you weren’t coming in today?”

Still catching his breath, Ben marches to her desk and thinks better of his looming stature. Awkwardly, he reaches out, looks back, and then takes a seat instead. Stoic and clearly full of vigour, he finally speaks.

“I figured out where he is.”

Suralinda frowns this time.

“Where who is?”

“The immortal. The one I’ve been hunting down.”

Understanding dawns upon her, brows rising and mouth making a silent O. Ben leans forward in his chair and swings his bag into his lap, hugging it. 

“Maz has a guy that’s been tracking his art collection. And the last one sold was only a few months ago, in London.” He points at the floor, as if a map floats tangibly in the air between them. 

“Well that’s amazing Ben, that’ll add a great speculative quality to the article, have people wondering if he’s walking among us and all that.” She smiles, secretly glad to see the whole thing finally done with and to have Ben back on track with the rest of his work. But Ben’s silence and the incredulity in his features makes her joy falter.

“No, no,” he shakes his head, “I’ve got to find him. I know where he is now. If I go there, and I find the person that bought this painting, I can speak to its owner and find out who sold it to them. From there I can do it. This could be incredible! The Fringe would do record numbers!” He tosses his hands out to either side, his excitement brimming over at the prospect of being so close after all these months of hunting. 

Suralinda, however, feels a hot rush of concern for her younger cohort. 

“Ben, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Are you...suggesting you actually go to London and try to find this man?

Without missing a single beat, Ben hurriedly answers, “Yes.”

“That is a massive risk and investment for something you can’t confirm is even real.”

Ben’s jaw tightens like a vice as a rush of fear and frustration rise in his throat. 

“I-” He starts to bite the words out, but purses his lips and sits up straighter, trying to reel himself in. “I know he is. I’ve been researching him for months and I  _ know _ he’s real. If you will just send me there, I can find him. I have a contact there who’s interested in helping me with the search and he already has a lead.”

It’s a half bluff, but he  _ needs  _ this. He needs her to say yes.

Surlinda leans back in her chair, dark brows knotted above the bridge of her regal brow as she watches him. It’s silent, and Ben feels almost like being sick, before she slowly begins to shake her head. 

“I’m sorry Ben, but we just don’t have the money to be sending you overseas on what could be an absolute wild goose chase.” 

It feels like the legs of the chair have split out from beneath him and dropped him through thin ice. He says nothing at first, desperately flailing to catch his hope as it floats just out of reach, leaving him to the frozen depths. 

He watches the concern deepen on Suralinda’s face as the silence goes on, and then he realizes just how much he is willing to sacrifice.

“What if I can get the funds? Will you give me the time off to do it? Six weeks, two months, that’s all I need.”

Suralinda’s concern turns to downright confusion as she stares back at the desperations in his eyes. 

“Uh, I-I...suppose. But Ben, this isn’t...I don’t know that it’s a good idea for you to keep pursuing this. I’ve never seen you like this before and, and you’re worrying me.”

Ben stands suddenly, the fire her confirmation lights in him enough to give him the remnant of possibility that he needs. Her worries, however, fall to selectively deaf ears.

“I appreciate that.” 

And without another word, he pivots and leaves.

***

On any other day, walking up to his mother’s front door would have made him pause with fraught anticipation, but not this time. He strides past every memory of himself staring up at the looming front door and pounds on it. There’s a pause, longer than usual, and then the door swings open to reveal his mother, looking up in confusion and then shock. Before she can speak, he interrupts the opening of her mouth.

“I need to talk to you.”

Leia’s lips seal themselves again and she looks a touch paler.

“Yes, of course, Ben. Come in.” 

Leia takes a seat in the den, but Ben refuses her offer and begins to pace. It’s frantic, everything about him is, and while he silently deliberates how to open this discussion he’d not fully planned before arriving, it’s her turn to interrupt.

“For heaven’s sake, you’re giving me a heart attack, Ben. What is it?”

Ben stops abruptly and faces her, both hands up as if he’s grabbing an invisible crystal ball between them, seeking the many possible futures for what he’s about to ask her.

“I...need you- to help me.” It comes out stilted and awkward. 

“I have-There’s this thing, that I’ve been researching for the paper, for months now. It could be the biggest thing I’ve ever discovered, but I-I need...to go to London, for two months. Maybe less, but I have to go, and the paper can’t afford it, so-so I’m…” 

He pulls in a breath that feels like shattered glass cutting up his pride. 

“I’m asking if you will sponsor this trip and-” 

“Absolutely not.” She interjects, “I will not fund whatever this ridiculous endeavour is, Ben. I’m shocked you’ve even asked.” 

Ben feels for the second time this night as if he’s being thrown into a realm of loss. There’s something different this time though, something that nags at him, that tells him he has a playing card he’s been pretending isn’t there this whole time. He knows if he loses his grip on the line now, that’s it. 

“If you do this for me, when I come back, that’s it. I’ll finish the article, and I’ll-I’ll talk to Uncle Luke. Whatever you want. I’ll do it.”

And it’s with that Ben realizes this has long since stopped being just about his job and what he could do for the paper. If it were, he wouldn’t have just agreed to give it up. No, this is about him. This is the man whose voice he’s never heard, and yet somehow echoes through his dreams, begging him closer, to follow, to find. 

If Leia thought she was shocked a moment ago, it’s nothing compared to now, as her jaw drops. She stares, sitting up taller in her chair as she tries to find her words. Ben feels a bit smug for having struck her speechless, even if he’s impatient for her answer. 

“I-, well then.” She blinks up at him a few times, and takes a deep breath before gesturing to the seat beside her. Leia’s tone is much kinder now, though tinged with confusion.

“Sit down, tell me about this trip then.”

***

When Ben collapses on his bed that night, a finished letter on his desk, filled with promises of discoveries to come, he can’t help but smile at the beautiful face that looks back at him, from its place upon his wall. 


	6. Chapter 6

**London, Mid July, 1893**

Phasma throws open the door of Hux’s den with a bang as it hits the stopper behind it, her shoulders shimmering with collected droplets of the warm summer mist outside. 

“This had better be good, Hux. I have a full house tonight and you know what that’s like to handle. I’ll be shocked if I don’t have to call in extra cleaners.”

Hux is, as he often finds himself before Phasma, laid out on a frosty blue couch with a look of utter irritation. A deep frown has sunk the corners of his lips low as his thumbs nearly wear holes into the paper he grips tightly between them.

“It’s another letter.”

Phasma takes a deep breath and places both hands at her waist before exhaling with a visage of disdain.

“Is that really all? And this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow night?”

“He’s coming.”

Phasma freezes, her expression transitioning quickly into something empty of all but stoic surprise. Hux’s eyes finally peel themselves away from the letter and meet hers. Phasma has seen him in many states over the decades, some far better than others, but rarely does she see what’s in them now: terror.

“Coming when?” She asks quietly.

“I don’t know. Soon. He said soon.”

“Well how long ago did he send the letter?” 

“Three weeks.” Hux’s responses are stiff and factual, his tone hollow and somber. 

“Is he not waiting for you to respond?”

“I don’t know.” 

Sitting up, he places the paper on the oak tea table and loosens up the throat of his shirt, then drops his face into both hands. 

“I told him I need to see the proof for myself and instead of sending it, he tells me he’ll bring it all himself.”

“Well tell him not to!” She nearly shouts, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

“And what if he’s already left America?!” Hux’s volume matches hers. His hands fall away from his face, but he makes no attempt to look at her.

“Then you’re doomed, Armitage.” She speaks to him as if he’s a child throwing a tantrum and it makes him nearly boil over with an irrational burst of anger.

“I asked for none of this!” 

“Yes you did!” She hollers back, and swings out with a firm hand to crack him over the back of his head. Hux flinches forward as his jaw tightens with a creaking strength. But the room goes quiet, both friends heaving breaths not common to such little movement.

“Yes you did.” She repeats, her tone firm and lips tight.

Hux doesn’t answer, not yet. He straightens, but still remains hunched over his knees, hands in shaking fists. Phasma just watches him simmer in his denial.

“You put that book out in the world because you were  _ bored _ . Because you’re  _ lonely.  _ And because you hate  _ everyone _ but me.” Her eyes glance down to see his hands are still shaking. “Most of all, yourself.”

Hux says nothing, and Phasma decides she’s tired of this right now. 

“If you want to wallow in that truth, do it. I have better things to do with my time than pretend your hubris is anything other than self-sabotage at this point.” Phasma follows through on her word and turns, striding from the room without a single look back. If he’s going to light himself on fire, she refuses to watch.

The slam of the front door does nothing to jar him from his self-loathing as her words sink in. He doesn’t know how long he sits there; it doesn’t matter. Eventually, he tells himself she’s right. It seems silly to keep pretending she isn’t when the exhaustion finally sets into him, making his body feel heavy. Hux sinks back down onto his couch, knees curled up, with a hand beneath his cheek, ignoring the pillow within reach. He stares at the letter on the table, only glimpsing the first few words, while the rest are obscured by the fold of itself refusing to relax and let him see it’s damning scrawl.

For so many years, he’s felt numb, stagnant, alone. Things he’s hid very well from everyone but his best friend, apparently. Only now does he allow himself to think about the  _ why _ of this whole fiasco. 

Decades of responsibility, of high risk and high reward, had made him think the same would be true of life outside it all, but in even greater measure. Freedom had come with risk, but it was paltry in the presence of his power. And what was the reward? Just too much time with little more than his thumbs to twiddle. Nothing thrilled him, no matter how much he tried to tell himself it did. The cat and mouse of a standard hunt was nothing compared to the satisfaction he’d gained from the games of the First Order. Intrigue and gilded words, secrets and the rush of adrenaline as he carefully manipulated his pieces across the board. Treading fine lines of life or death. He wanted it again.

It’s only now that he fully accepts that this entire situation is of his own subconscious creation. That he’d been waiting for someone like Kylo this entire time. Someone to find him, and play another game. For once, Hux can’t decide if he wants to win or not, and that, more than anything, scares him.

Stiffly, he rises from the couch and picks up the letter, carrying it to his study. He collapses with a thud into the high backed chair behind his desk, and drops his face into spread and steepled fingers. Closing his eyes, he simply thinks. How does he answer this? What does he want from this situation? From Kylo? If Kylo sees him, he’ll recognize him immediately. Will he know he’s the man Kylo’s been asking to help hunt him? Not likely. But is there even a way to keep them separate? A way to play the game that means he never has to know? He rereads Kylo’s letter over and over as he sifts through the possible outcomes, the uncertainty of it all making his body tight with anxiety. 

Eventually, he feels the hunger start to pluck at his mind and body, reminding him that he cannot sit here all night without sustenance when it’s already been a day too long. Looking at the clock, he realizes it’s still fairly early, and his immediate thought is to head to The Charmed Dahlia for dinner, until he remembers the argument he and Phasma had just had. With a heavy sigh, he resigns himself to the possibility of having to hunt tonight. There was a time when it was exciting and fed a primal part of him, but his thoughts circle back to the disappointment that with age came the tedium of it all. There were bigger, better games to be played, and he’d long since favoured them. A meal was a meal, and he liked it served to him, so as to spend his time on more interesting things. That luxury was unlikely to be his tonight. 

Staring down at the letter one more time, he elects to get some air and food before trying to tackle it again. It’s a race against time, yes, but he needs to play his cards carefully, or this entire thing could truly end him. If not by the hand of some foolish and frustratingly smart journalist, then by Snoke for having let him get so close to a discovery. 

At the door, he collects his top hat, coat and cane before checking himself in the mirror. His reflection smirks back as he remembers the myths. How could vampires possibly be so vain if they couldn’t see themselves? With a mild chuckle, he turns and heads out the front door, closing it with a click. As he digs the key from his pocket, something catches the corner of his eye, and he turns to look.

At the bottom of the walk stands a tall, broad shouldered man, with a thick mane of dark hair and a low set brow. He’s rather handsome, and uniquely so. But it isn’t his appearance that strikes Hux as odd, instead it’s the way he stares at him. It’s like he’s just watched him awaken from the dead.

With a knotted brow, Hux straightens, keys between his fingers and cane beneath his arm. 

“Can I help you?”

The man says nothing, and Hux can swear he’s growing paler. Why does he look so distraught? Why is he just standing there? Why is he carrying so much? What’s in that painters case upon his-

The contents of Hux’s hands fall to the step with a clatter, splitting the horrified silence as the world falls out from under him. He’d thought he had time. 

“K-Kylo?” He whispers, knowing full well the only thing he wants right now is for that name to mean nothing to this stranger. 

***

It had been weeks since he’d left home in Philadelphia. There had been an uncomfortable number of sleepless nights and sea sickness, accompanied by a stiff nap on the train to London. He’d read the address over and over in his notebook, committing it to memory until he spoke it aloud to the driver of the station carriage. The entire way over, each bumpy mile, made his heart beat harder as self doubt crept in under his excitement. Had Percival even gotten his letter? What if he was showing up completely unannounced? He should have been more patient and waited to hear back from him, but the fear of losing a lead with each passing day was becoming too much and postponing the trip any further felt impossible to handle. 

The carriage begins to slow, bringing his thoughts back to the present. He pulls aside the short curtain and looks out to see the curling gold numbers he’d memorized, nailed to the siding of a beautiful house. Stepping out, he adjusts the tube slung over his shoulder (it’s contents never having strayed far from him throughout the journey) and retrieves his bag before paying and thanking the driver. 

Left alone, he stares up at the daunting task of introducing himself to this man he barely knows. But he can do this, he can share what he’s found, and Percival will see that he’s right. This beautiful man will no longer just be his to seek, but it will make finding him so much easier, and that is the ultimate goal. Whatever it takes. 

Ben is shaken from his thoughts for a second time when the front door opens, letting warm light spill out over the bare stone steps of the stoop. His heart jumps up into his throat. Is this Percival? Are they a houseguest or a friend? Maybe a collea-

The man in the doorway lifts his chin, and Ben feels the blood in his veins chill to a halt. His throat closes up. He can’t breath. His hands begin to shake and there’s nothing he can do but stare. His world narrows down into each singular second. 

Ben has seen that face every night for the past five months, the delicate blue-grey eyes never meeting his own, despite how much his heart ached for their attention. And now, for the first time, they look up to greet him, filled with confusion and curiosity. 

How? How is he here? 

The sharp, rising elation is cut short by the memory of where he is, of whose home he’s supposed to be standing in front of, and then the joy is gone. Instead, fear and betrayal rise like bile in his throat, burning him from the inside out and boiling his blood back into motion. 

“ _ K-Kylo?” _

No. No no no no no.

What is happening? What’s  _ been _ happening? Who has he been talking to all these months? He’s not ready for this, whatever it is, he’s not prepared. He’d run both of these meetings over in his head so many times, and not a single second of it could have made this any less shocking.

The ginger haired man takes a step towards him and Ben instinctively raises a hand, taking an answering step back. This man; Percival? Who is he? Stops, and Ben realizes he looks just as shocked as Ben feels. Whatever plan he’d had, this clearly wasn’t part of it either.

Ben has always struggled with his fight or flight instincts manifesting in the poorest ways, but for once, his body says run, and his mind agrees. Forgetting the bag at his side, he begins to stumble backwards, eyes locked onto the porcelain face of this unknown being before him. 

And then, he runs. 

***

“ _ Fuck!”  _ Hux hisses, watching Ben bolt. His first reaction is to hurry forward, but then he freezes, his cane and keys forgotten on the doorstep. He spins around, reeling mentally and physically as he panics, trying to figure out what he can possibly do next. Let him go? Absolutely not. The idiot knows too much,  _ far _ too much. He knows who he is in more than one sense and exactly where to find him. What if he’s running to the police now? That’d be a royal mess and a half. Does he even know where the station is? God, Hux has no idea.

And what if he chases him? Does he find him, kill him even? Hux’s gut wrenches itself tightly into a knot. He should, he should just find him, and kill him. He was already hungry, right? Yes, that’s what he should do. Just make him dinner and be done with it. But that knot isn’t loosening with his meager attempt at conviction, in fact it’s getting worse. He feels like being sick, which is a sensation he hasn’t experienced in decades. 

Killing Kylo right now is not an option. Hux has spent months playing this game, and this is where it ends, but not like that. Looking down the street, he watches the back of his unexpected visitor dip in and out of the lamp light, nearing the bend.

“ _ Fuck.”  _ Hux hisses again and pushes his fallen locks back from his face with a deep breath. Holding it tight for a moment, he glances up the street. There’s only an elderly couple chatting a block over and a young man with his dog, all their backs to him. Good. 

Trying to gather some sense of composure, he grabs the bag Kylo had left, and tosses it at his front door with a thud. Straightening out his waistcoat, he trains his eyes on Kylo’s back, takes a steading breath, and bolts, leaving everything where it lays. 

It’s been a long time since he tapped into the power of his body like this, but with the head start, there’s no way Hux will catch up without it. The ease of speed comes without delay as he forces himself to keep a somewhat mortal pace, wary of attracting too much attention when he’s already done more than enough of that. God, why hadn’t he gotten a proper scent on the foolish man before he’d taken off? That would have made this so much easier. Faster, he’ll just have to go faster, and make sure he doesn’t lose sight of him. 

When Kylo turns the corner, Hux is glad he’d chosen to follow, or that would have been it. Round that corner, and he’d be lost to him. Within moments, Hux does the same, and feels his stomach drop. Kylo’s gone.

Hurriedly, he brings himself to a stop, nearly tripping over his own pace. No one, there’s no one on the street, and especially no large, dark haired men. Breathing as even as he can, he extends every sense he has in a frantic attempt to figure out where he’s gone. Outwardly, Hux appears calm, though overly alert, eyes darting around, his attention roaming across every building he passes. And then he catches it. Not a unique scent, but instead one he knows very well, made of sweat and heavy, fearful breathing. There he is.

Stepping into the long cast light of the street lamp, he peers down a narrow alley between two homes and sees the silhouette of Kylo clinging to a tall garden gate. He seems to have made the mistake of thinking Hux has no means of tracking him, and if he were a normal human, that may have been a safe assumption. But that is not the case, and so catching his breath is a fatal flaw in his escape. Hux can hear it, the hard beating of his heart, even from a good fifteen feet away. Why did this have to happen before he’d had dinner? Well, he supposes it’s probably helping in this unexpected chase.

Not wanting to scare Kylo into jumping the fence, he silently presses his weight into the balls of his feet and makes a quick glance to either side, before launching himself into the alley with an elegant leap. He lands almost imperceptibly within arms reach of his fearful visitor. 

“Kylo,” He says quietly, still hoping not to scare him into another sprint. But of course, his presence is a surprise, and Kylo whips around, his arm coming out in a hard swing. Hux ducks out of the way, a heavy sigh leaving him as his gaze momentarily narrows. 

“Calm down, I know you’re in shock right now, but admittedly, so am I. We need to talk, and we certainly can’t do that in an alleyway, now can we?”

Kylo says nothing, just stares at him with wide, terrified eyes, his nostrils flared with the panic of a cornered animal. Up close, Hux gets a proper look at him now. A broad nose and shoulders to match. Though their heights are similar, their statures are not. His jaw is tight and angular, cheekbones high and freckles plentiful. His brow is heavy set and eyes a dark, enticingly warm brown. Hux feels that hunger nagging at him again. He’s handsome, and it makes Hux slide his tongue over his teeth as he waits for some kind of answer.

“Who are you?”

Well, that is a good place to start he supposes, and getting Kylo back into his home isn’t going to come without some careful coaxing.

“I’m...many people, as I think you’re more than aware of at this point.”

Hux leaves a pause for Kylo to interject, and when he doesn’t, just continuing to stare, Hux gives a subtle nod and speaks carefully.

“Forgive me if I’m not comfortable giving my proper name to someone whose intentions I don’t yet know. For now, you can continue to call me Percival. That’s the name you’re most acquainted with, yes? We’ve been corresponding by letter for several months now?”

Hux sees Kylo’s prominent Adam’s apple rise and fall before a slow nod follows. His hands, clutching at the gate behind him, hesitantly release the bars. 

“Good, I haven’t any intention of hurting you, though I understand your concern, considering you-” His eyes flicker to the canvas carrier still strapped to his back, realizing exactly what must be in it. “Considering you must be very confused right now.” His eyes move back to Kylo’s, the panic still evident in them. 

“No fucking kidding.” Kylo answers, a mild bite to it. Hux presses his lips together, in a quick attempt to hide the little burst of amusement that brings him, but it shows in his eyes regardless. Hux thinks he needed that little break from the tension.

“Yes, well, that’s fair. Come back to my parlour and we’ll talk. You’ve a million questions, I know you do. I might not be able to answer all of them, but I can feed at least some of your curiosity. That’s what you want, right?”

Hux watches as the muscles in Kylo’s jaw tense and shift, clenching his teeth. He’s so strangely emotive, but in no conventional sense. It’s all in the edges, with nothing quite clear in the forefront of his expressions. Finally, Kylo nods with considerable hesitation.

“Alright then, follow me.” He directs, with a nod of his head and a slow turn. The walk back is silent, and Hux remains on high alert, in case the other man decides to take off again. 

How  _ exactly _ is he supposed to go about handling this? Just, what...ten minutes ago? He’d been figuring out how to tell Kylo to stay away and still send him his research. Well, that had certainly proved a worthless worry because now here he was anyway. Hux wonders what might be going through Kylo’s head already. He won’t have figured out exactly what Hux is yet, but either Kylo is completely aware he’s in the presence of an immortal, or he thinks he’s wandered into some kind of con job, which would be a far too easy way out for Hux. He doesn’t expect to have such luck considering how things have been going so far. And it certainly doesn’t help that his belly is starting to ache with hunger.

On his way to his front door, he picks up Kylo’s bag and offers it to him. It’s accepted with the anxious sideways glance of a once kicked dog. Retrieving his own fallen belongings, he pushes open the front door and offers Kylo first entrance. The taller man just stares into the golden light of his foyer, unresponsive. What an odd duck…

“You can take me at my word, I have only the intention of speaking with you.”

Dark eyes flicker to him, then back to the doorway, and finally stiff steps carry Kylo through. Hux follows and hangs up his things, pretending he doesn’t notice the twitch in Kylo when the door shuts behind them.    
  
“This way.” Hux directs, gesturing with a hand to the parlour. 

***

Not once in Ben’s years of ghost hunting and exorcisms had he ever walked into a home that felt richer with the promise of horror than this. There is nothing particularly noteworthy about the decor to make him feel so, it is born entirely from unanswered questions. The sitting room looks comfortable, if a little sharp around the edges, and rather cooler in it’s colour palette than he expected. With his heart pounding in his ears, as if he’s still running through unknown streets, he sits with his bag in his lap.

Ben watches Percival carefully as the well dressed man takes a seat across from him on a striking blue couch, ornately curled filigree crowning its back. Ben can barely look at him. Percival’s face makes it feel like he’s reliving every private moment of the last several months all at once. Does he know? Does he see it in him? Smell it on him? What creature is he? Is he a creature at all?

“So I expect you’re wondering what exactly has happened.”

“That’d be one thing.”

Hux gives a pause, looks him over, and Ben feels every hair on his body stand on end as his survival instincts begin to resurface. 

“I suppose I should start by telling you I’m a bit of a con man, and that I never anticipated someone putting things together in the way you did.”

Ben stares, his eyes darting around to each detail of Percival’s blank expression. Ben has spent half a year studying this man’s existence, which Percival knows about, and now he has the audacity to try and pretend it was all a hoax? A mistake of his imagination?

“Bullshit.”

Percival jerks back subtly, his posture lifting and lips tightening. His eyes drop to the table between them and Ben watches as he gnaws at the inside of his lip. He’s probably realizing Ben won’t let him get off so easily. It brings Ben a bit of a thrill. For the first time since this whole thing began, Ben feels like he might have the upper hand.

“Alright then. Fine.” It’s curt, and not at all willing, but he meets Ben’s impatient gaze once more.

“About a year ago I did something exceptionally foolish. I published the book that led you to...me.” 

He looks to be chewing the corner of his mouth again. Ben’s teeth clench as he thinks of all the times he’d considered how they might feel pressed to his own. God, why is he thinking about that right now? This man is some kind of supernatural being and instead of being wise and jumping right back on the train, Ben has followed his alluring voice into what might still be his demise.

“I cannot explain what strange strings of fate have actually brought you here. Simply put, you somehow got your hands on what seems to be a study of my life.” Percival gestures to his bag and the canister strapped to Ben’s back. “I think this all started when my book keeper was robbed a few decades ago, and now you’re all mixed up in it.”

“Mixed up in what?” He asks hurriedly, trying to shut off his thoughts as best he can and just let whatever feels like being said, be so. But Percival’s eyes were so perfectly represented in the painting that it’s exceptionally jarring to meet them as they look up through pale lashes with a scrutinizing gaze. 

“In me. In a world you have absolutely no understanding of, despite your best attempts.” He answers simply. 

A world. That brings a deep breath into his lungs, his eyes widening with the promise that statement brings. A whole world? As in an alternate one? Or something right here but shrouded? Leaning forward, he clings to the bag in his lap like a life preserver, making it possible for him to dive into the dark waters below.

“And what are  _ you _ ? What world?”

Percival’s expression changes considerably. He looks less like he’s trying to charm him, and more like he’s considering whether or not to devour him. Maybe...maybe he is…?

“Answering that directly might be a bit too much for you right now. Let’s start with something I think you can handle. You’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve lived far longer than any human you’ve known, yes? Then you’ll be glad to know, you are...correct. I have lived through several centuries, and as long as we can come to an agreement, I hope to live many more. Do you think we may be able to do that?”

Ben can barely get through one sentence before the next has him reeling inside. He was right. He wast right.  _ He was right! _

“Yes!” Ben almost shouts as he shoves the bag off his lap and nearly leaps to the edge of his seat. The terror in him is suddenly sidelined by an intense rush of triumph. Percival jerks back, clearly surprised by the turn of Ben’s demeanour, from anxious and stoic to almost flushed with eager intent. 

“Oh, well, that’s good to hear. This should be simple then.” He clasps his hands in front of him, and places his elbows on his knees. 

“I expect you’ll want some kind of incentive for your silence. Do keep it within reason, but I have enough funds to keep you comfortable for quite some time, I’m sure. I hope you’ll understand that I’ll be taking back all of your records of me as well.”

Ben’s brow immediately drops as a heavy frown sets itself upon his features. He’s silent, staring at the beautiful face before him, and taking in the offer. His heart races at the idea of letting go of everything he’s gathered, just for money? He doesn’t want money. He didn’t come here for that. When he returns home, as much as he loathes the thought, he’ll be fine if they can make his mother’s plan work. 

“I don’t want money, I-” He watches Percival’s face grow sharp and defensive, but continues as he raises a hand in a gesture of appeasement.

“I want to-to know more about you.” It feels like peeling back his breast and giving a glimpse of his soul, bared to a monster he doesn’t yet understand, but desperately hopes to. 

The surprise is clear on Percival’s face and the room grows quiet, his shoulders slouching slightly as he scrutinizes Ben carefully. He watches Percival’s eyes narrow, and his posture straighten as he sits back on the sofa. One tightly trousered leg lifts and crosses the other before he links his long fingers over a knee. Ben feels like a gazelle, perched on the bank of a watering hole as a lion stares them down from across the water’s meager expanse.

“You want to know more about me, hmm? So you can go home and post in your little paper about the monster you’ve found?” His tone is filled with venomous mockery. 

“No.” Ben answers hurriedly. “I want-” He cuts himself off and digs his nails into the plush seat beneath him. 

This is getting to the truth of the matter he’d discovered while convincing his mother to help him come here. He certainly can’t just put it out there with full honesty. 

“I just...want to know how you did this. How you’ve lived so long; why, all of it. I don’t care about publishing it. I haven’t for a while…” He trails off and carefully unclenches his hand as he casts his eyes to the table between them. Another excruciating silence falls.

“Do you want it for yourself? Is that it?” It’s such a simple explanation. Ben doesn’t know what kind of gamble he’s making here, but it’s far better than admitting his utter infatuation with the near stranger before him. 

“Yes. I-I don’t know what you are, but I want to understand it, and...and maybe achieve it myself.” 

Percival sighs loudly and tilts his head, giving Ben another considering look. It nearly kills Ben to just sit there, waiting for Percival to see something that will make him say  _ yes. _

“Well...I suppose if that’s your price, then I can provide some details. But let me be perfectly clear.” He leans forward and Ben only realizes afterward that he’s done the same, “If you breathe a word of anything I share with you to someone else, not only will they not believe you, but both you and they will be  _ absolutely slaughtered. _ Indiscriminately.”

Percival’s tone is frigid in a way that covers Ben’s body in gooseflesh. His eyes, their striking mixture of green and gold that have had him trapped in their storm for months, bare down on his own with menace. It brings an unexpected flip to his stomach, that’s not exactly the fear he expected. Instead, as he nods slowly, it feels like a butcher’s hook has caught him behind his ribs, hauling him forward into a consequence that has yet to be seen.

***

Hux stands over the younger man before him, who has now set the contents of his coffee table aside, and filled it with ledgers and pages and pictures. Hux’s hands rest on his hips as he takes a deep breath, while Kylo searches for his pencils amongst his clothing. 

This is a lot. This entire situation is simply too much to handle. He has to commend himself for putting on a good show of holding it together. He doesn’t think Kylo has noticed the subtle shaking of his hands whenever he’s not been clasping them together. It’s getting worse now, and not just because of his nerves. The hunger is starting to tug at his concentration.

Kylo’s rejection of money and interest in simply gaining more knowledge had been wholly unexpected. In the moment, he’d almost said no, because that was easily the wiser thing to do, but there was just something about the earnest fascination and pleading desire in his eyes that made Hux second guess himself. Kylo has been tracking him for months, and has done a good job of it, with only crumbs to work with. Why is he so enamoured with him? Is it purely for his immortality? What is it in his notes that’s ensnared him so thoroughly? He can’t help but be curious. Only afterward do Phasma’s many words ring out in his head again: hubris, loneliness, boredom, foolishness. 

He silences her voice in his head just as Kylo brings forward the case that had remained nestled against his back this whole time. Hux watches as he stares at it for a long moment before pulling off the top and drawing out it’s contents. Just as Hux had suspected, Kylo unrolls the canvas across his collection, revealing a gorgeous rendition of Hux’s own face. It looks no different from him right now. With a heavy sigh, Hux stares at it, a lingering heaviness swaying in his chest.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see this one again.”

“It’s beautiful.” Kylo sounds reverent, and Hux switches his attention to him.

“...You think so?” He asks delicately. The tone of Kylo’s voice makes him remember too clearly the way this painting’s creator had once said those same words. Though they had been directed at him more than the canvas at the time. 

“I do…” Kylo answers, his voice trailing off. Hux takes in every flicker of his eyes, every stone still second, trying to determine what’s going on in that handsome head of his. Hux wonders if maybe...just maybe, Kylo’s compliment wasn’t entirely for the painting alone. Just like when Anthony had said it… Hux clips the thought short with the tightening of his gut as a subtle tint of ferality stabs the back of his mind. Maybe that theory is guided by hunger more than logic. He’s going to have to do something about that soon if he’s going to have Kylo here much longer. 

“The artist was very talented, yes. He was...well, I’ve found myself the muse of many over the years. He is the only one I let make a proper portrait of me though, and when I left, I thought he would have burned it. But I suppose not...He was always very attached to things, even the inanimate. Empathetic to a fault.” Another sigh follows his words as his gaze slowly crosses each brush stroke. 

“I’m glad he didn’t.” 

Hux looks down at Kylo to find his gaze wide and filled with an honesty that Hux isn’t sure he’s supposed to be shown. It makes Hux’s stomach lurch. There’s something in it that screams to be taken and Hux is in no place not to want to do that very thing right now. He can’t. He has to keep his cards close to his chest, and he can’t very well drink him dry. There’s no doubt someone knows exactly where Kylo has gone and Hux has brought enough attention to himself without an international murder investigation on his hands. Swallowing the excess saliva that’s pooled beneath his tongue, he speaks gently.

“And why’s that?”

Kylo immediately turns his face away.

“It’s...the painting is what caught my attention, when I, uh...when I was given the books about you.” Hux watches his brows sink low over his eyes.

“I still can’t believe I actually found you…” It’s said more to himself than to Hux, and with a weight that doesn’t sound like a simple epiphany. 

“Neither can I.” It’s difficult to stop his attention from drifting, to following the curve of that strong neck with his eyes as the presence of his thirst begins to thoroughly cloud his mind. Those warm brown eyes are on him again, and he can feel the air grow thick with a tension that is not only his own. It would be so easy...

“I have to go.” Hux blurts out, quickly turning away and taking wide strides towards the parlour door.

“What?” Kylo answers, urgently getting to his feet and following. Damnit, Hux needs him to stay there. This boy has no sense of self preservation at all. Usually, that would be a plus for Hux, but not right now. Plucking his hat from the hook, he refuses to look at Kylo again as he dresses.

“I’d been heading somewhere when you arrived, and now I’m quite late. You’re welcome to stay while I’m gone and we’ll discuss things more when I return. I should only be away a short time but if you need rest, there’s a guest room up the stairs and two doors down on the right. Water closet it first to the left.” With himself ready to go, he steps up to the door and feels Kylo follow him, standing far too close. 

“But I just got here! You haven’t even-”

Hux whips around, eyes tinted with intense command. 

“You will  _ wait.”  _

The desperation of his hunger manifests in something that looks like rage but sounds like a velvet gag being slipped between Kylo’s teeth. Hux sees how ridged Kylo becomes, hears how his heart rate rises, and now Hux isn’t so convinced it’s his hunger telling him there’s more to this than mere curiosity. While there had been part of him afraid Kylo would run while he seeks supper, that no longer seems likely. 

Hux relaxes slightly, seeing how well Kylo has listened. 

“There are some tea and biscuits in the kitchen if you wish. Apologies for there not being much else.”

“That’s alright.” It’s far breathier than it should be, and it suddenly takes Hux more will than he would like not to grip Kylo’s hair and just-

“I’ll be back soon.” His words are tight as he turns and flees the making of his end.


	7. Chapter 7

“You really have the nerve to come here for a meal and not even apologize first.” Phasma’s tone is quite flat and disinterested, despite her words being antagonistic. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, her back straight and full stature imposing. 

Hux wipes blood from the corner of his mouth as his dinner siddles anxiously around her employer and out the door. His hair is out of place still, not having sorted it from his chase with Kylo, and though he’d just eaten, her blood did nothing to ease the exhaustion of his mind. 

Phasma frowns when he doesn’t respond, his eyes downcast, with a sense of shame wafting off him. Something doesn’t feel right, Hux always has some bite to him, and their fight wasn’t significant enough to warrant this degree of impending prostration. She lets her arms slide free to her sides, a look of concern covering her face.

“Hux? Is something else wrong?”

There’s a long pause, his head hanging, before he speaks.

“He’s here; the journalist. He showed up just after you left.” 

Phasma looks on with horror, her mouth falling slightly open.

“You’re kidding me.”

“No, I’m not. He ran the second he realized and-and then I caught him and brought him home to talk.”

“To  _ talk?!” _ Phasma shouts, her fingers splaying out in exclamation. Hux shoves a hand into his hair, the heel of his palm pressed to his forehead.

“Yes,  _ talk.  _ What would you have me do? Kill him? When he’s probably told his family exactly where he’s gone?”

“Yes!” Her volume is no lower this time. “Dead men tell no tales, Hux, and it’s his  _ job  _ to tell them.”

Hux shoots to his feet, fists shaking at his sides as he stares her down with tense animosity. 

“I am not killing him. I will deal with him.”

“Really? It’s that simple is it? And what if Snoke finds out? He’s already itching to end you, and you’re courting a reason for him to do it  _ again. _ ”

“I’ll pretend he’s one of us if I have to.” 

Phasma’s brows shoot up as she takes a moment to process that.

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“I can’t say you’re wrong.”

The two of them stand there, only the crackle of flames in the hearth filling the stagnant air. There is a passing of understanding between them, though the heat of their anger doesn’t die. She was right about everything she’d said to him in his parlour. He’s grown desperate for something, anything or anyone, to bring him out of this fog he’s been festering in for years. 

“Hux...how long are you planning to let him stay?”

Hux swallows tightly before taking a shaky breath and answering hesitantly.

“A week, maybe more…”

“Why?” Her irritation drips from the single syllable.

“He’s-he’s asked for information in exchange for his silence.”

Phasma lets out a broken huff of laughter, her expression incredulous. 

“And you’re going to  _ give it to him?” _

Hux closes his eyes tightly, biting back every nasty thing he wants to shout at her right now. 

“Look, are you going to help me, or not?”

***

Hux chooses to walk home, rather than hail a carriage. He needs the time to clear his head, before he has to deal with Kylo again. It’s so overwhelming, all of this happening so suddenly. But he needs to get a handle on things, there’s just too much at risk not to. 

He’s reminded again of the fact he did, in some ways, ask for this. His lethargy and desire for something,  _ anything,  _ to reinvigorate his life, had been answered in the form of a handsome, freckle faced man. Hux supposes things could, surprisingly, be worse. 

And then, with stark panic, Hux realizes he didn’t lock a single door before he left. He’d just been too hungry, too affected by the doe eyed look on Kylo’s face. Hux curses below his breath, eyes darting around for a passing carriage. But no, nothing. It’s late and this road isn’t well travelled. Hesitating, he rises on the balls of his feet, debating which outcome presents the biggest risk. Kylo having unfettered access to his house? Or someone seeing him nearly fly down the street? Kylo. Kylo is definitely the bigger problem. He’ll just hope whoever sees him thinks it’s a trick of the light.

Tossing his cane up, he catches it around the middle and plucks his hat from his head. A second later, he dives into a sprint, flying through back alleys and silently leaping over garden fences. He hears the barking of dogs who startle awake at the blur of him. 

It’s only a few minutes before he’s at his own back door, not wanting to risk the light at the front giving away his inhuman speed to the neighbours. Shoving a key into the lock, he throws the door open and stands in his kitchen. 

Hux’s stomach drops at the sight of the basement door wide open. With a hard slam of the back door, it’s only a blink of an eye before he’s at the bottom of the stairs, a startled Kylo jerking around to look at him. 

They’re standing in Hux’s bedroom. He had the windows sealed off when he purchased the place, so no light leaks in from the street outside. The only source of light is in Kylo’s hand, a small lamp Hux should almost thank him for not dropping when he appeared. His room is dressed in dark blues and greys, with a four poster bed that boasts a beautifully carved headboard; stallions and lions rearing at each other in shows of dominance. 

“What are you doing?” Hux’s voice is much calmer than he feels, and by the appearance of Kylo’s rising and falling Adam’s apple, his presence is just as menacing as he intends it to be.

“Uh…”

Hux quickly notices a collection of papers clutched tightly in Kylo’s hand. He prays they’re just notes about him.

“What are those?”

Kylo slowly lifts his hand, and Hux gets that whiff of fear from him again.

“What’s...The First Order?”

Hux’s whole body tightens like a bowstring about to snap. A string of curses runs through his head as he grinds his molars together. Wonderful. This is wonderful. So much for putting off this discussion until  _ after _ he’d finished working out his plan of action. 

Closing his eyes, Hux takes a deep breath before pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. 

“Alright, sit down.” He points to the long stool that sits at the end of the bed with all his shoes lined up neatly on the shelf beneath it. 

Kylo, rather than perhaps attempting to flee this tense encounter, sits obediently and sets the lamp beside him, with the papers in his lap. Hux has encountered his fair share of people with laughably lacking senses of self-preservation, but Kylo is on a different level all together. It’s not like with the others, where he’d woo or glamour them. And Kylo is by no means bonded, so what exactly is making this willfully present man stay? Even do as he says?

Standing in front of Kylo, Hux looks him over, trying to determine exactly how to take this very dangerous step.

“You’ve been studying immortals beyond my book, yes?”

Kylo nods, his eyes wide, and though still scared, it feels like he’s clawing at his coat, begging for answers. Is he really that hungry for whatever knowledge Hux has to impart on him? Hux can’t say there isn’t something alluring about it. 

“What do you know of creatures of the night? In folklore from all over the world, you must have come across some.”

Hux can hear the subtle pounding of Kylo’s heart quickening, and watches as his hands grip the papers tighter.

“I-uh, I know some, yeah. Like...the ones that can’t go out in the daylight,” Kylo’s eyes dart over to the sealed window Hux knows rests high in the wall behind him.

“That exist in some state between life and death. That-that, uh,” His eyes are back upon Hux’s, severe and expressionless. Hux is glad Kylo can’t hear his own pounding heart. 

“That live off the blood of others?” Hux offers. 

The room is silent as Kylo just watches him for a long time, and Hux purposefully gives him nothing to work with. He needs to stay as much in control of this completely  _ out _ of his control situation as possible.

“Y-yeah…” He whispers breathily. This time, Hux can’t quite pinpoint what emotions are mixing in Kylo’s face and body. Is he finally ready to try fleeing again?

“Well, you’re a smart man, I think you understand where this line of thinking is going.” 

Kylo nods again, this time stilted. Surprisingly, he doesn’t move, though tuning into the sound of his pulse again tells him there’s likely a strong dose of adrenaline running through Kylo’s veins. Hux’s brow curls in as he watches the strange man staring back at him in silence. This whole time he’s been keeping himself stern and authoritative, but that dark, intense stare makes him feel a little untethered. 

“...Do you? I have to be honest, you’re a very difficult man to read.” It’s the most free sounding speech he’s given Kylo since he showed up on his stoop.

Kylo looks a bit surprised and sits up a smidge straighter. 

“Oh, uh, just um, taking it in, that’s all.”

Hux’s brows sink lower, his lips parting as he tilts his head, giving Kylo a quizzical look and folding his arms across his chest.

“You-you sound like I’ve just told you you’re either getting a raise, or being fired, and I can’t tell which.” Lifting an arm, he gestures a hand towards Kylo, “I’ve just told you vampires are real, and that you’re standing in the presence of one. Does that not bring out some kind of visceral reaction for you?”

For some unknown reason, asking  _ that _ question, seems to make Kylo look more scared than Hux’s original confession. He can only stare harder at the younger man, trying to parse whatever is going through that handsome head of his.

“It...does, I just...I’m not sure how to describe it.”

Hux shakes his head. Somehow, between the two of them, Kylo seems the bigger mystery and that absolutely boggles Hux’s mind. He’s lived more than a dozen lives and yet he doesn’t feel like he’s the most intriguing person in the room for once in his very long life. He shakes his head, too tired to truly unravel this man right now. It’s not far from morning.

“Alright, alright,” He spreads his fingers over his eyes before speaking again, “you asked me a question.” His gold rimmed eyes meet Kylo’s again, their warm depths somehow devouring his own.

“The First Order is the name of our governing council. Every population needs people who command it, make the rules, and enforce them. The Order itself is widespread, it’s denizens reigning over different areas. Some towns, some countries. The power dynamics are as varied as they are in mortal governments. Though we do have a unifying code that all are supposed to uphold. They’re also in charge of protecting our secrecy, which…not everyone maintains as perfectly as they should.” 

He pauses, feeling a rush of guilt for the hypocrisy of his life, crowned by this very conversation. Kylo averts his eyes and Hux can tell there’s an unspoken understanding of his role in breaking that secrecy that they should perhaps let slide for the moment, since they’re both in this mess fully now. Hux clears his throat loudly.

“You’ve been to my study then, if you’ve collected those.” He nods to the parchment in his hands. “What else have you gathered? I’m sure you have many questions at this point.”

Kylo’s vigor returns immediately with the offer of whatever answers he may like.

“How long have you lived?”

Hux raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t you think that’s a rather rude way to start?”

Kylo looks momentarily panicked, but defensive. 

“There isn’t some rule about not asking, like ladies at a party, is there?”

Hux gives a small huff of amusement.

“No, I’m honestly just teasing. I was born in the early 15th century, here in England.”

Kylo’s eyes grow wide and he shifts forward on his seat. 

“And this whole time you’ve just-you’ve been making new lives, whenever you know you can’t hide the fact you don’t age, right?”

Hux’s brows rise, his expression pleasantly surprised. He hadn’t expected the response to be a degree of understanding.

“Yes, it’s how many of us live. As I’m sure you’ve realized, mortals wouldn’t be too fond of finding out they  _ aren’t _ the apex predator. It would also make it substantially harder for us to eat. And trust me, Kylo, you do not want to ever find yourself faced with a vampire that hasn’t fed as they should.” 

“Ben.” Kylo quips, causing Hux to frown in mild confusion.

“Excuse me?”

“Ben, my name’s not actually Kylo. That’s my pseudonym, for when I’m writing. It’s Ben Solo.”

“Oh,” Hux says with a tone of pleasant surprise. “Well, I suppose it’s fair I tell you Percival Jones is the same for me. My name is Armitage Hux, you can just call me Hux, everyone who knows it does.”

There is a subtle rise to the corner of Ky-- _ Ben’s  _ mouth. A smile, though a soft one, is the very last thing he expected to see at any point this night. And with that little hint of positive emotion, seems to come an opening of floodgates.

“What happens if you don’t eat? How often do you eat? Do you hunt? And how?”

Hux raises his hands in a gesture of placation.

“Hold on, one at a time, and I will need to sleep soon. Now that you’ve,” He pauses, looking over the excitement that seems to be thrumming through him now. “Got some answers, why don’t we continue this conversation tomorrow evening. And I will remind you that my threat still stands.”

Ben shakes his head, bottom lip pressing up against the top. 

“Not a problem. I want to know everything. I won’t risk someone calling me insane stopping that.”

Hux is, again, pleasantly surprised. He’d originally expected it would take much more effort to keep Ben in check. But it seems the man knows what he wants and is very willing to do whatever is necessary to protect his chances of getting it. How very, very interesting.

“Excellent, then…” He trails off, giving himself a moment to really take in everything about this excessively curious man. How strangely enticing he is. As much as he acknowledges how bad this entire situation is, there is a part of him that suddenly sighs with relief, shedding a weight that’s been pulling him beneath waters of despair for quite some time.

“I’ll see you in the evening.” 

Ben stands and nods, still gripping the sheets in his hands as he picks up the lamp. 

“Do you need me to-?” He lifts the lamp towards him and Hux shakes his head.

“No, I can see perfectly fine in the dark.”

That little smile returns and Hux wonders if maybe he doesn’t want to send him away so soon after all. 

“I’ll see you tonight then.” Ben heads for the stairs as Hux’s eyes follow the papers.

“Ben?”

Ben turns back to him.

“Don’t go into my study again unless I’m with you. Not everything in my collection is filled with truths, so it would be best you have some guidance.” 

Ben nods back to him. And with that, Hux watches the bobbing light disappear up the stairs, wondering if he’s just added something else to the list of biggest mistakes of his life.


	8. Chapter 8

The request Hux had made to stay out of his study had been a test, and when he’d awoken the next evening and tentatively left his room, a simple check in told him Ben had passed. So it really did seem he was willing to respect Hux’s rules in exchange for knowledge. It makes him wonder what lengths he’ll go to.

Hearing the front door open, Hux makes his way back downstairs. There, he sees Ben place a few full paper bags on the floor before locking the door behind him. 

“Did you...get groceries?” Hux inquires incredulously. 

Ben turns to him and slides his coat off. 

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to eat food but I still do. I already ate all your cookies.”

“Did you now...” Hux simply looks him over, realizing Ben genuinely intends to stay and see this through. Ben slides his shoes off and picks up the bags, heading into the kitchen with them.

“You didn’t have to follow me, by the way. I’m telling you the truth. I want to know more about you, and about all this. But I get it, you probably heard me leave and thought I was taking off again.” 

Hux frowns, stepping down off the bottom step of the staircase and following Ben. 

“What are you talking about? I didn’t follow you. I just woke up.”

Ben’s frown mirrors his own as he looks over at Hux from the counter, a loaf of bread in his hand.

“Yeah you did, you...From the house, for a few blocks?”

Hux feels the worry start to build in his throat. 

“That wasn’t me, Ben. What did they look like?”

Ben starts to look very concerned as he slowly puts the bread on the counter.

“Uh, they moved like you did last night when I tried to get a good look at them, so I thought...that really wasn’t you?”

Hux shakes his head, expression tight and alert.

“Ben, be careful. There isn’t a single one of us I would trust to be as kind to you as I’ve been. And...and what we’re doing here, you knowing anything at all, paints a target on your back. I shouldn’t even be-” Hux growls with exasperation, covering his face with both hands before turning away and throwing them into the air.

“This is a terrible idea. This is just going to get us both killed.”

“No, no,” Ben hurries over to him, and Hux freezes as two large hands lay against his arms.

“Please, I-I need this.” It’s quiet, desperate, and pleading. 

Hux doesn’t expect it to tug at his heart, but it does. He thinks it’s probably selfish, but the idea of something he has, of himself, being needed again, of having a purpose, however small it may be, makes it feel impossible to deny Ben. With a heavy sigh, Hux looks to the ceiling and figures he’s about to find out exactly the bed he’s made himself to lie in. 

“Fine, finish putting away your food and then we’ll talk.” 

He turns just in time to see the sag of relief in Ben’s shoulders and the thanks in his eyes. It worries Hux just how invested in this he already seems to be. What exactly is motivating him to want this so much? 

“Alright, I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

“Good, good.” Hux mutters, finding it difficult to look away from those dark eyes for a moment. Then Ben’s hands fall away from him, and he realizes he’s been staring, something Ben seems to notice too. Hux quickly turns and heads for the front door. 

That man is far more attractive than he ought to be.

Opening the front door, Hux heads to the mailbox and plucks its contents from inside, as he always does first thing after waking up. Shuffling through them on the way back to his foyer, Hux stops, staring down at a bright red envelope devoid of postage, the seal of the First Order pressed into it. Without going back in, Hux slides his thumb against the wax and breaks it. Pulling the single sheet of parchment from it, he reads the bold, black words scrawled across it’s middle.

**_The Supreme Leader would like to know more about your houseguest._ **

Hux swallows, the action providing no relief for the rock that’s formed itself in his throat. Hux looks up at the warm light cast down from his door, with a direct line of sight into the kitchen. He can see Ben walking past, benignly putting away his purchases. It’s barely been a day and already their eyes are on him. He can’t let them take him, not when Hux has only just gotten a taste of what this odd young man has to offer him.

Heading back into the house, he locks the door behind himself and heads to his study, a plan quickly forming in his head. Sitting at his desk, he begins to write his response.

**_To Supreme Leader Snoke,_ **

**_I see you have followed through on your attempts to intimidate me with your watchers. You will find your attention is ill placed this time, as the man visiting is simply an old friend from my days in America. Yes, he is one of the Kindred, and I ask that you leave us both alone with your paranoia._ **

**_Kindly yours,_ **

**_Armitage Hux_ **

He doesn’t bother to mask his tone this time. It feels entirely appropriate. He just has to ask Ben to keep his activities to the night, and they should be none the wiser. He won’t be here forever, just a few weeks at most, until he’s learned all he can and then...and then what? Ben heads home? Like nothing has happened?

Hux’s stomach turns over and over until Ben’s voice calls up to him.

“Hux? I’m done. Do you want me to come up?”

It startles him, but he keeps his eyes on the letter, taking one last look at the lie he’s about to tell. If everything he’s done so far doesn’t get him killed, lying to the Supreme Leader certainly will. Why is he doing this? Why is he risking so much? 

“Hux? Is everything all right?”

It’s because for the first time in so very long, Hux feels excited. Not knowing what will happen next with this handsome man who calls to him. It’s exhilarating and exactly what he’s needed, regardless of what might come of it. God, Phasma was right, he’s nothing but a fool. And still, he folds the letter and tucks it into an envelope as he finally answers Ben.

“I’ll be right down. And Ben, how fast of a reader are you?”

  
  


***

In the weeks that follow their unexpected introductions, Ben proves to be a dedicated pupil, and Hux an attentive tutor. Ben pours himself into each text Hux offers him, swallowing each morsel of information like it will bring him new life. Hux wonders if he really does see it that way. 

On more than one occasion, Hux has scolded the other man off eating over his books. He won’t have him ruining them like that. But despite the moments of bickering, their conversations are rich and dense; filled with questions and theories, awaiting Hux’s answers. Sometimes, he doesn’t even quite remember what the answers are, and so he needs to pull out old records for them both. He can’t be expected to remember  _ everything _ from the last millennia of vampiric history. 

There are times when their discussions wander into other territories too, like politics and the meanings of life. While pompous at a dinner party, the subjects are unavoidably interesting now that Ben has this new perspective to learn from, while for Hux it’s surprisingly nice to have someone so inquisitive and thoughtful to engage with. It’s so new, so exciting, so refreshing. All things they both feel, but keep quietly to themselves. 

However, there are other moments, here and there, that make them both feel so uncertain. Sometimes it’s the closeness of Ben leaning over Hux’s shoulder to see an illustration. Others, it’s how those amazing golden green eyes warm ever-so-slightly with praise when Ben comes to a correct conclusion. And some nights, it’s unusually difficult for them to go to bed as the sun threatens the skies. 

***

After Hux has given Ben another volume to peruse, and spent some time writing letters to people interested in purchasing art from his collection, Hux finds himself feeling peckish. He doesn’t necessarily have to eat just yet, but he suspects being around Ben all the time is aggravating his appetite. He supposes an unscheduled trip to The Charmed Dahlia won’t hurt to keep things in check.

Heading down from his study, he sees Ben sitting on the floor over the coffee table, absorbed in the pages before him. 

“Ben, I’m heading out for a bit, should be back in a few hours. Keep everything locked, and as we discussed, don’t invite anyone in.” He picks up his hat, adjusting the short brim snuggly on his head as he hears Ben get up. The broad shouldered man leans against the doorframe next to the coat rack, bringing himself just a little bit too close. That’s been a bit of a theme with Ben, and Hux can’t say he doesn’t like it. 

“Where are you headed? I’ve been cooped up in here for weeks. Can I go with you?”

Hux’s reflexive response is to say no, but then an idea hits him. Maybe, just maybe, if he takes Ben to The Charmed Dahlia, he can weave his lie a little tighter. He squints at Ben, rolling through the possibilities and exactly how to execute them. 

“I’m going to have something to eat.” He says carefully, looking for Ben’s reaction. “Not to hunt. I’ve mentioned to you some vampires don’t have to, if they’re wealthy enough to maintain a membership to a den. Well, as you can imagine, that’s not a problem for me.” He pauses, giving the half formed plan in his head another once over. 

“Would you...like to come along?”

Before Hux even poses the question, he can see in Ben’s face that he wants nothing more than to follow him to dinner.

“Yes, absolutely.” He answers eagerly, pushing off the doorframe and looking ready to take off the moment Hux says go.

“There’s some care that needs to be taken for this though. First of all, I’ll need to get the owner’s permission. Luckily, she’s my closest friend...but she won’t be happy about it, so I’ll need some time. You’ll have to wait in the carriage until I come back to get you. Secondly, I’m going to have to do this very carefully to keep us from being found out. We’re going to need to pretend you’re there for a meal as well. So you stay quiet, and you follow my lead, alright?”

Ben’s approval is just as quickly given.

“Then get your best clothes on and we’ll be off when you’re ready.”

***

It takes almost half an hour for Hux to convince Phasma to let him do this. She nearly kicks him out at the admittance of his lie to Snoke, and he can’t really blame her. He knew what he was doing when he sent it, but now it’s about playing the game correctly, and winning. 

Winning, so far, seems to be keeping Ben’s identity quiet, until he’s safely out of Snoke’s reach. He hasn’t exactly discussed this with Ben yet, but if Hux can play his cards right, maybe he won’t have to any time soon.

***

Ben waits patiently in the carriage, at least on the surface. Internally, he’s struggling not to launch himself out of it and make demands of that unmarked door he’d seen Hux disappear through. This whole experience has been the most insane of his entire life, but he thinks he’s handled it fairly well. He’d been right, and that was enough of a rush all on it’s own, he just...hadn’t expected everything else that came with it. Hux could have killed him, he knows that now, and was completely within his right to do so considering what Ben’s since learned of their codes. He still doesn’t understand why Hux didn’t. 

The first time he’d gotten to look at him, really, truly look at him, it had taken Ben’s breath away. His delicate red lashes, contrasting with the masculine cut of his jaw, and the firm line of his pinked lips. It was all so much to take in after months of dreaming about them. The way he held himself was different from what he’d imagined though. There was something soft about it in the portrait, his posture wasn’t so rigid there, but Ben had always thought it was painted by someone who had seen him in gentler moments. And sometimes, when they were deep in conversation, he could see that part of him too. When he seemed to let go of his stern propriety and fully engage with their discussions. He was intelligent and eager to debate, and Ben had always been someone wanting for a good argument. Hux certainly rose to meet him on that. It felt good. His opinions felt valued even if they were disagreed with, and Hux seemed to enjoy having someone new to share his thoughts with in return.

Ben had learned so much from him in such a short amount of time, and there was still plenty to come. First hand accounts of times he’d only ever read about, stories of vampires that made his heart race, it was all so enthralling and Hux told it with such vigor when given the opportunity. It had only gotten better the more they’d spoken, and now here he was, about to finally have his own first hand tale to tell. If only Hux would hurry up and-

The carriage door swings open and Ben meets that now familiar golden green gaze. It looks strained, but pleased.

“Apologies for the wait, she took even more prompting than I thought. But, we have permission. As far as anyone knows, you are an old friend of mine from when I spent some years in America and I won’t have you out hunting as my guest, despite your lack of membership. Now come.” 

Hux steps aside, gesturing toward the door. Ben follows his lead and steps down, adjusting the cuffs of his best summer jacket. He’d never parted with his finer things when he’d left school. They still served a purpose from time to time. The collar sits high, and a pretty amber pin holds the tie at his throat in place. 

“Do I...have to do anything?”

“No, just walk with me. You’re a visitor, you’re allowed to be interested in the Dahlia. It is a very lavish place. Our kind spare no expense, Phasma most of all.”

Hux sends the carriage driver on his way as Ben looks at the blank, unassuming door. He finds Hux’s description makes him want to burst through it, but he holds himself back and finds his pace alongside the other man. 

“Who’s Phasma?”

“The proprietor of this place. She is not one to be trifled with no matter who you are. She has a keen sense for opportunity. That’s how she opened The Charmed Dahlia to begin with. A good number of our population suddenly lost a haven of ours and she created something new in its wake. I think you’ll like it.”

Hux raises his cane to the door and taps in a strange pattern. Now close enough, Ben notices something move out of the corner of his eyes. A brick in the wall down the alley shifts aside and he glimpses the shadow of someone's eyes looking out at them. A second later, the door opens onto a poorly lit staircase. Ben swallows the lump of anticipation that fills his throat. This is it. This is where he’ll get to see all he’s learned come to life. 

Hux nods at the man holding the door open for them, who seems to have a comfortable little alcove for himself and a book in hand. At the bottom of the stairs is a set of double doors, heavy and black. When the one at the top closes behind them, there’s a pause, before the second opens. Ben thinks it must be some kind of light based precaution and wonders if there are people who stay here through the day.

When they step through, Ben’s attention is immediately grabbed by the grandeur of the place. They’ve stepped out onto a landing with a broad, red carpeted staircase before them, with two more going up half a floor to either side. The ceilings are high and a balcony rings the edge of the second floor, with a dozen doors and three halls going off in each direction. Looking down to the first floor, there are archways with intricately carved molding on either side, leading off into what seem to be a dance hall and a lounge. The place is low lit by elaborate bronze sconces, their flames holding steady and illuminating the array of plush chairs and couches arranged around the room.

But more than the decor, it’s the people that pull in all of his attention. Never in his life has he seen such an array of beautiful people in one place. He feels a rush of insecurity as they descend the stairs. He leans in to whisper to Hux.

“Are you sure they aren’t going to notice? I mean, I’m not...I don’t look like, like most of them.”

Hux stops abruptly and blinks a few times at the room in front of them before turning partially to Ben. He seems surprised, which confuses Ben.

“What do you mean?” Hux whispers back, looking up at him. Ben stops a step behind him, and nervously looks over at a gorgeous brunette man, his features strong and his smile smug.

“They’re all...you know, beautiful.”

Hux is quiet for a long moment, his eyes wider than usual as he takes in Ben’s words. 

“Then you’ll fit right in.” 

Hux says it with such confidence, as if he can’t believe Ben wasn’t thinking the same. The way he’s looking up at him seems to say so as well, and it makes Ben’s heart feel like it’s leapt from his chest. Did...did he just call him beautiful? While handsome is definitely his preferred compliment, the implications of one or the other are no different. Hux thinks he is, at least in some sense, attractive. It feels like a shock to his system, this revelation that maybe their closeness of the last few weeks isn’t solely based on his one sided infatuation. 

Ben is quiet as he stares into those mesmerizing golden green eyes, left speechless by the unexpected tension now lingering in the air between them. Is it real? Or is he just imagining it? 

“Come along then.” Hux says gently, gesturing forward with his cane and a slight nod of his head. “Don’t want to attract too much attention.”

Ben realizes he’s breathing a little harder and nods, finally breaking the prolonged eye contact and following Hux down onto the patterned rug of the main hall. Directly ahead of them sits a mahogany counter, much like the front desk of a hotel. Behind it, watching them with an intense gaze, is a very tall, broadly shouldered woman with striking blond hair. She does not look particularly pleased as they approach and silently holds out a key, arm at full extension as if trying to keep them as far away as possible. Hux reaches out and takes it.

“Thank you, I promise we won’t cause any trouble.”

She gives a short, sarcastic laugh. 

“I’m sure. Just do us both a favour, and tip Amelia well on your way out. I’ll send her up in a few minutes.” With a begrudging glance at Ben, she walks out from behind the counter and heads into the lounge. 

“Follow me, you’ll get lost if you wander. This place is like a maze until you get to know it.”

Ben says nothing and does as he’s told, simply watching Hux as he leads the way. His soft hair, the taper of his waist, the slight but strong set of his shoulders. Ben needs to take a steadying breath as he thinks about the way he’d looked at him on the stairs. Did that mean anything other than a friendly confidence boost?

Finally, Hux comes to a stop outside one of the many similar looking doors and Ben realizes he’s completely lost track of their path while busy with his own thoughts. It suddenly hits him that, were he to decide to leave, or even run from whatever is about to be revealed to him here, he might not be able to find his way out. There’s no windows to climb out of, only the front door they’d come in through, with it’s guards and dozens of vampires and denizens between him and escape. There must be another way out, but he has even less hope of finding that. His heart beats hard in his chest as the danger he’s put himself in finally sinks in. But it’s too late now.

Entering the room, Ben’s brows rise at its extravagance, which Hux seems completely at home in, as he removes his waistcoat and drapes it over the back of a brocade chair. A massive four poster bed, encased in rich green and gold drapes sits to the left, while a decorative set of matching lounges and chairs encircle a low table lit up by a stout candelabra. Gold lamps line the walls at equal distances, softly lighting the windowless space, and throwing just enough heat to keep the chill off. 

Hux turns to him, hands propped casually on his hips. 

“Now, before Amelia arrives, let us go over a few things.”

Ben feels like a fish out of water as he nods and continues to stand awkwardly just inside the doorway, a hand beginning to bunch up his pant leg. Hux’s eyes dart to the movement and he takes a moment to think before meeting Ben’s gaze again. 

“Why don’t you come sit first?” Hux gestures towards the couch and heads for a wide seated chair himself. Ben nods again and does as is suggested while trying to smooth out the wrinkles he’d just created. He takes in another breath to calm himself, and thinks he may need to take many of those tonight. It’s quiet as they look at each other, Ben wondering what Hux is seeing, what he’s thinking about him. 

“So you’ve already read about how we feed, in a clinical sense. It is considerably less sterile and methodical than those texts make it sound. They also somewhat gloss over the euphoric aspect of it for the mortal.”

Ben takes a deep breath, having kept to himself the interest he’d had in finding out more about that particular experience.

“It’s like venom, right?”

“Yes, when we bite our…” He seems to struggle with an appropriate word choice, “companion, they quickly experience a calming and pleasurable high that makes their heart beat stronger and faster, which I’m sure you understand the usefulness of. I’ve heard it described as a combination of both an orgasm and the relaxed bliss of afterglow happening at the same time, but elevated.”

Ben feels his own heart beat faster and stronger as the explanation unfolds. He swallows thickly as his mind races through the thought of experiencing such a thing. They’ve come here so that Ben can watch, can learn, but Ben knows without a shadow of a doubt he never wants that woman to arrive. He wants it for himself; he wants it from Hux.

“Right…”

There’s another quiet pause, this time accompanied by a brief but curious squint from Hux. Ben quickly averts his eyes, choosing instead to count the sconces around the room. Hux clears his throat and adjusts his body in the chair. 

“If you’d like, I can-”

The sound of a knock at the door makes Ben jump, and he jerks around to look. 

“...Come in.” Hux invites, though there’s something in his tone that lingers.

In walks a beautiful brunette woman who looks to be in her early thirties, her hair pinned up in braids and curls, with soft blue eyes. She’s much shorter than both of them and has a healthy looking roundness filling out her high cheekboned face. She smiles at Hux and gives a curtsey. 

“Hello, Mr. Hux.”

“Hello, Amelia. Thank you for joining us tonight. I hope you’ve been well.”

“Well indeed.” She answers, walking over to them both and catching Ben’s eye with a smile for him too. Ben notices the low cut of her neckline, revealing a swath of healing bruises along the top of her breasts and the column of her neck, each in a set. It’s quite a sight to take in for the first time, knowing what each one means.

“Madame Phasma did tell me you’d brought a handsome friend along.” 

“Oh, I’m sure she didn’t put it quite like that.” Hux corrects as he leans his chin against the curve of his fingers.

Amelia and Hux give each other the look of a privately shared joke before she continues on over to him. Hux reaches out a hand and rests it at her waist as she stands just in front of the arm rest. 

“My friend has already eaten recently, so he won’t be partaking of your services tonight. But I will be letting him watch, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course not, he’s welcome to.” She gives Ben an approving look before scooping her skirts around and sitting in Hux’s lap. Ben’s heart jumps up into his throat, and there isn’t any hope of denying it’s catapulted there by jealousy. This whole display has only barely begun and already his body is tight with the need to replace her. 

Every sense is trained on the sight before him as Hux looks over through those pale lashes and parts his lips. For the first time, Ben watches as Hux’s canines extend down into sharp, pronounced points. There’s something deep and primal inside Ben that comes alive at the sight, wanting to both run to and from Hux, just like he had when they’d first met. His hands begin to bunch up the fabric over his thighs again as that amber gaze holds his just a little too long. 

Amelia tilts her head, offering her already bare neck to him, and finally Hux turns his attention back to her. With no more preamble, Hux slowly bites down on her neck. Ben holds his breath as he watches the two ivory daggers sink into her skin, blood bubbling up around the edges. Rather than a shout of pain, Amelia sighs, her shoulders sagging and grip loosening in her skirt. As the soft sound fades, Hux’s eyes return to him, and Ben feels that primal sensation shift into an arousal that makes his next breath stutter.

Hux doesn’t look away, just pins him beneath the weight of those gorgeous eyes that have filled his mind during release too many times before. The cuffs of Ben’s pants reveal the hue of his socks, his knuckles turning white from both poorly controlled desire and mortification. Looser, his pants need to be looser or else Hux will see how easily his body has decided to betray him. 

Ben loses track of time, his hands pulling the pants towards his groin, trying to hide his shame. He’s not paid attention to Amelia at all, and he realizes that’s because Hux doesn’t want him to. They’ve barely looked away from each other the entire time. 

Finally, Hux slides his fangs free of her flesh. It’s so wrong, and yet maybe the most erotic thing Ben has ever seen. Hux licks a thick line over the subtle wound on her neck as blood trickles over her skin. Ben hopes Hux doesn’t notice he’s shaking.

“Thank you, Amelia. How are you doing there?” Hux asks calmly, as if Ben doesn’t feel like at any moment he might spontaneously combust. With another sigh, heavier than the first, she shakes her head to bring herself from the haze and places a hand on Hux’s shoulder.

“Just need a moment to collect myself.” She chuckles, pressing her other hand to her forehead. 

“Yes, of course.” He answers, leaning back to give her some space.

Ben can do nothing but stare silently at the fine line of crimson on Hux’s lips as he licks it off. Ben notices Hux was looking at him as he did so. What does it mean? Is he still hungry? Does he know? It’s only when Amelia makes her way off Hux’s lap that they finally break from their stalemate. 

“That will be all for tonight. Your company has been much appreciated. I’ll leave a fine tip for you on our way out, my dear.” 

Amelia gives another curtsey and a pleasant smile to Ben, her expression still mildly dazed.

“Thank you, Mr. Hux. You two have a good night.”

“You too.” Hux answers, before Amelia makes her way out of the room with a soft click as the door locks behind her. 

It’s silent. Ben can’t look at him, not now that they’re alone, not now that there isn’t another presence to make him hold himself in check as his self restraint grows thinner and thinner. 

“Ben,” Hux sounds far too calm for the way Ben’s blood is rushing through his ears. “Ben, look at me.”

With a hammering heart, Ben can’t resist, and slowly looks up to meet Hux’s upsettingly unreadable expression.

“Do you want this? Do you want me?”

Ben’s head fills with the roar of every desire, every need, every shameful thought he’s ever had about the mesmerizing man sitting across from him. There’s no question what Hux is asking of him, not with the tension that feels like it’s crushing him. Is he ready to say it? To do this? He barely asks himself the question before his body screams with a resounding-

“Yes…” He whispers, the confidence inside him not quite reaching his voice. 

Hux’s lips take on a soft curve as he exhales, a stiffness in his posture that Ben hadn’t noticed fading all at once. Had he been scared of Ben’s answer? It only now hits him that if Hux is asking him this, especially with that display he’d just given him, then perhaps he really hasn’t been the only one holding back these past weeks. The thought gives him a hard rush of excitement.

Ben’s eyes are wide as he watches Hux stand and begin unbuttoning his waistcoat. Is he really…? 

Long fingers dig their way into the knot of his cravat, working it free. Followed by the unfastening of each sleeve cuff. Ben has no words, makes no sounds, while Hux parts his shirt inch by inch, revealing the fine, pale skin beneath, until he pulls it free of his trousers and slides it from his shoulders. 

Hux looks almost soft, but that does nothing to change the power Ben knows he has, and certainly not the power he has over him. Nothing could possibly pull his attention away from the sight of Hux’s fingers poised at the waist of his pants. But they don’t move, and Ben finally blinks, looking up at him. Ben’s cheeks burn when he realizes Hux is smirking at him.

“What?” Ben asks defensively.

“It’s a good thing I just ate, or that hunger in your eyes would have me ravaging you.”

Ben can’t breath as he takes in the implication and feels a surge of arousal that makes it no longer possible to hide the filling of his trousers. 

“I want you to.” 

It’s the most honest thing he thinks he’s ever said about his desires, and he watches a flicker in Hux’s eyes that makes him think he’s said the right thing.

“In due time.” He answers smoothly, fingers finally unhooking the waist of his pants. But he doesn’t push them down, instead, he sits again and reclines casually.

“Go to the nightstand, open the top drawer, and retrieve the bottle of oil. Then bring it to me.”

Ben looks over to the table, then back to Hux, and finally unclenches his hands from his thighs. He goes to the drawer and opens it, finding neatly organized bottles with various contents. One is labeled “Pleasure Oil”, which makes Ben swallow the thick rise of nerves in his throat. With shaking fingers, he picks it up, and walks back to Hux, who watches him the whole way. When Ben holds out the oil, Hux takes it and sets it on the tea table beside his chair before looking back up at Ben. 

“Have you ever done something like this before? With a man.”

Ben’s jaw tightens as his nerves give another burst inside his chest. 

“No…”

“That’s alright, we’ll start simple then.” Hux’s voice is kinder than Ben thinks he’s ever heard it as he stands before him.

Ben doesn’t know what to do with himself, with his body, his hands. He’s scared to make a mistake, that this is some cruel joke, that Hux is going to laugh at him. But he doesn’t, not at all. Instead, Hux steps in close, closer than Ben would usually let anyone get, and runs his hands down his arms. He’s so close, so  _ tantalizingly _ close. He can see the imperfect flecks in his gilded irises, a detail the painting had not captured. With a single inch remaining between their lips, Ben breaks. He dives into the kiss with a fervour he has only felt in those late nights in his room, records of Hux’s life strewn about his desk, sheets disheveled beneath his arching form.

Hux’s hands tighten on his arms as the kiss is answered with far more elegance than Ben knows how to give. But within a few seconds of frantic tongues, Hux’s presses down hard upon his, bringing him to a halt as his breath heaves. And then those fangs graze his bottom lip, sending a hard shiver down his body. Before he can lean back in, Ben freezes, feeling a sudden hand cupping the bulge in his trousers. It’s the first time a man has touched him there and it thrills him in a way he’s never known.

“So eager, but still so clothed.” Hux’s free hand rests nimble fingers over the amber pin at his throat, twisting it teasingly before pulling it free. 

“Be good and get rid of them for me.”

Ben doesn’t hesitate, his hands flying to his jacket, stripping it off in one jerky motion. Piece after piece follows, dropping in heaps around him until he’s standing in a halo of garments. When he reaches the last layer, he hesitates, knowing it’s the last chance he has to run from this whole thing, but the moment he considers it, his consciousness rushes to shove the fabric down his legs. His thick, long cock hangs heavily between his legs. Plump and lively.

Hux stands back, looking him over, taking him in, and Ben has never felt so vulnerable. His hands clench and stretch, his weight shifting from one side to the other, while he looks anywhere but directly at the man he’s spent so many nights dreaming about. 

“You are…” Hux says quietly, and Ben finally looks at him again, terrified of what scrutiny could be about to pass through his lips. Orange locks fall across Hux’s forehead as he shakes his head slowly. “You are a dream, Ben Solo.”

Ben’s heart nearly stops at the praise, and he can’t help but blurt out his next words.

“All I’ve done is dream of you for months.”

It’s Hux’s eyes that turn hungry this time, and not in the same way they’d been with Amelia. No, not at all. Ben’s words light a deeper fire in him that burns strong and fast as he toes off his shoes, pushing them aside, and finally shoves all his remaining layers down the length of his legs. 

Ben stops breathing, the air held tightly in his closed throat as he stares at the answering erection pointing out from Hux’s body. All he’d known of Hux was his face and the slight curve of his shoulders when those fantasies had passed through his mind, the rest of him purely imagined. But looking at him now, none of that compared. And more than all of that, Hux wants him. He really, truly, wants him.

“Lay on the bed.” Hux directs, gesturing behind Ben with his chin. Ben looks back and with his body covered in goosebumps, does so. First he sits and watches Hux pick up the bottle he’d gotten for him, then he pushes the heels of his palms into the plush bedding and slides back, slowly letting himself lie flat against the pillows. It feels like he’s about to faint, the blood flowing through his body in too many directions at once. He watches Hux crawl towards him, that hot honey gaze baring down into his soul, searching for everything he’s willing to give. 

Hux stops between his legs and pulls the cork from the bottle before pouring some oil into his palm. It’s then safely corked and set aside, while Ben’s heart does nothing but drown out every sound in the world. The glistening hand reaches out and Ben’s hands tighten in the sheets as he watches those slender fingers wrap around the base of his cock. Ben lets out a shuddering exhale, followed by a frantic intake. 

“Shh, just relax.” Hux purrs, his hand beginning to slide along Ben’s length with firm, slow strokes. It lights him up inside, staring into the eyes of this gorgeous man he’s done little more than obsess over for months. 

“I can’t bite your neck, your collar won’t be high enough to hide it.” Hux shifts back, lowering himself onto his stomach and looking up at Ben from between his thighs. Pinked lips grin subtly, the tips of Hux’s fangs shining in the low lamplight as he drags his bottom lip across Ben’s inner thigh. Ben’s cock twitches visibly at the sight, his breath hitching.

“But I have some other ideas…” Hux whispers sensually, pressing a kiss to the tender flesh. Ben’s hands are shaking again as he feels his balls tighten, matching a similar sensation in his chest. It’s getting harder to keep his head up, to watch that penetrating gaze hold him at its mercy while the pleasure of Hux’s slick fingers make his thighs quiver. Hux rubs his lips back and forth over the sensitive skin as Ben shakes.

“I can feel your pulse against my lips. Hear it pounding through you.”

“Please...please, Hux…” He whispers back, the memories of Amelia’s body tipping over into euphoria fill his head, begging for it. 

Hux smiles this time, not a grin or a smirk, but a genuine smile. 

“As you wish.” He promises, then opens his mouth to reveal the tapper of his fangs once more. Staring up at Ben, he gently presses them down, pausing before the skin breaks in what Ben recognizes as his last chance to say no, but all he does is nod. And then Ben watches as they sink into his body.

It hits almost immediately. The rush is overwhelming as his body is flooded with an ecstasy that melts every bone and yet tenses every muscle, before reversing those very same sensations. It makes him gasp, pulling air into his lungs and expanding his chest before freezing like that, eyes wide as his mind grows fuzzy around the edges. He’s felt nothing like it ever before and has no idea how Amelia handled it so casually. It’s so strong that there’s no way of stopping his body from toppling into a real orgasm just seconds later.

His cock spills over, come spreading across his chest and dripping down over Hux’s fingers. The overlap of euphoria and ecstasy confuse every part of himself, and it isn’t until one subsides that he realizes he’s been writhing uncontrollably, moaning and shouting his pleasure into the room. All the while, Hux drinks from him and it makes him feel very suddenly like he’s about to faint. 

“H-Hux, I-I’m…” He mutters brokenly, then feels a strange sliding sensation as Hux removes his teeth from Ben’s thigh. Everything is spinning, the edges hazy, focusing impossible, but then he catches the shimmer of something gold above him and looks up into the concerned eyes of his sudden lover. 

“Ben, breathe deep for me. You look like you’re going to pass out.” Hux’s fingers gently grip his chin, holding his head straight. “I didn’t expect that to be so strong for you.”

Ben can’t muster an answer, just struggles to keep his eyes open while nuzzling into the hand upon his face. He registers a few seconds later that Hux shifts off of the bed. He vaguely tracks the sound of another drawer opening, then of water being poured into a basin. Soon, a cool, wet cloth sliding across his belly. Ben’s gaze is soft as he looks up at Hux, now wiping his own hands clean. 

“Come, I want you to sit up and rest with me. I don’t want you to fall unconscious like that.” Hux reaches out his hands and Ben sluggishly reaches for them, letting Hux provide the strength needed to bring him to his feet. Ben feels weak, and finds moving at all to be a struggle on his unsteady legs. Each step makes the ache of the bite on his thigh tingle.

They reach Hux’s chair, and he sits, guiding Ben down onto the floor beside him. 

“There you go, just rest your head on my lap.” Ben does exactly as he’s told, wanting nothing more than to nuzzle against the soft skin as Hux had so recently done to him. He sighs as he feels fingers start to comb his dark waves.

“I shouldn’t have done that so soon. I underestimated things.” He sounds a little regretful, and it pains Ben.

“No...no...I feel...so good…” His words trail off, each one more exhausting than the last. He feels a thumb rub small circles against his temple.

“I’m glad.” There’s an honest happiness in his voice. “We’ll head home once you’re feeling up to it, alright?”

Ben nods just twice against Hux’s thigh, and wonders how after so many years of his luck being nothing but bad, fate chose to bring him here, with a beautiful man who can bring him so many glorious feelings. Ben pictures months past, when there was an ache in his heart from knowing he would probably never find the man in the portrait. But now, as Ben slowly drifts off beneath his calming touch, it’s no longer stagnant eyes that fill his dreams, but the glossy gold-green focus of Hux’s affectionate gaze that stares back at him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need in retrospect to apologize that the sex in this chapter is not a fully fledged loss of virginity, but it just felt right that Ben would lose his mind and Hux would care more about his well being than his own pleasure in that moment, so I hope you still liked it.
> 
> I am planning to do a PWP one shot of them after the events of this story if you would like to have that need fulfilled with these two. It’s going to be quite extravagant~


	9. Chapter 9

If there’s one thing Hux hadn’t expected when that first letter arrived, it was to one day find Kylo Ren nestled alongside him in his bed. But there he is, dark locks splayed out across the pillow, the strands cupping his cheek as Hux finds himself wanting to replace them with his fingers. In the nearly two months since Ben’s arrival, Hux has found himself falling more and more in love with a man who seemed to have done the same before they’d even met. But with each passing day, comes the truth of the matter; that at some point, Ben will have to return home. Ben had explained the lengths he’d gone to in order to make the journey to Hux, and the promise he’d made to his mother, so it had always been sitting there in the back of Hux’s mind. Neither of them have talked about it, but Hux knows they can’t do this forever. If it isn’t returning to America, then it’s Snoke finding out about their charade. 

With a somber sigh, Hux reaches out and brushes the strands of raven hair from Ben’s cheek.

***

Hux sits at his desk, penning an offer to another client, as Ben sits casually in what Hux thinks of as his most comfortable chair with a book open in his hands. But Hux can’t concentrate on a single word of what he’s writing. All he can think about is the fact that they surpassed the two months Ben had been allotted yesterday, and still, neither of them have spoken of it. Finally, Hux gives up on trying to work and sets his pen down. The soft click of it bringing Ben’s attention.

“Done already?”

“No,” Hux answers, his eyes cast down at his desk but focusing on nothing. “Ben, we...we need to talk about your time here. It’s...it’s been over two months now, and-” He looks up at Ben and feels his heart sink. Ben’s gone pale, his expression laced with what Hux can only assume is the fear of rejection.

“Have I...overstayed my welcome?”

“No,” Hux puts his hand up, trying to stop that line of thinking. “It’s not that, it’s...we can’t do this forever, Ben. Your family is expecting you, and while that’s perhaps manageable…” Hux trails off, his brow pinching together. He tucks his face into a palm with a heavy sigh of defeat.

“At some point, the lies I’ve been telling to keep you safe aren’t going to be able to do that any more. And when that happens...there’s only so much I can do. This is based on little more than luck.”

“I don’t want to go back.” Though Ben’s voice is as deep and firm as always, there is no denying the pleading tone beneath it.

“I know, Ben.” Hux nearly whispers, closing his eyes. There’s nothing he wants more than for Ben to do just that. “I don’t want you to either. I-you being here has done more for me than you know.” His eyes meet Ben’s again, the upset clear in their meeting features.

Ben puts the book aside and stands up, walking to Hux’s desk and leaning over it, palms on it’s top.

“Then why are we talking about this? I’ll stay. I’ll send my mother some kind of lie. We’ll keep pretending I’m one of the Kindred, and if something happens we’ll handle it.”

Hux squeezes his eyes shut, lips pursed as he struggles with pulling together the words he needs to say.

“It isn’t nearly that simple, Ben. I can’t  _ protect _ you from Snoke if he decides to do something about this. I can barely protect myself through sheer wit alone. All I can do is make contingencies and  _ hope _ that they work. But none of that guarantees your safety. The safest place for you to be is far away from here, back in America, where you have a life waiting for you free of all the danger that comes with me.”

Hux’s eyes burst open at the sudden slam of a fist onto his desk. Looking up, he sees the anger that’s erupted, barely hidden behind the pain.

“Don’t I get to decide what risks I take? It’s my life Hux. I’m sick of being told how I’m supposed to live it ‘for my own good’.”

“But it  _ is, _ Ben. This isn’t about choosing a career path your mother wants for you, this is about literal life and death. When Snoke finds out what I’ve been doing, about you, I-”

“Stop it!” Ben shouts, stepping away from the table as Hux watches his warm brown eyes become glossy. “Is this what you want then? Me gone so you don’t have to deal with the mess you made?”

Hux’s stomach lurches as Ben’s words hit him like a punch to the gut. His jaw tightens, brain suddenly running through months worth of time together. Is he right? Is that what he wants? To not have to clean up the problems he’s caused by just sending them away? Hux’s heart gives another twist as the answer quickly rises to the surface.

“No, Ben, that’s not what this is. It’s because-” He pauses, a shaky breath making its way into his lungs. “It’s because I don’t want to lose you, that I have to do this.” 

Hux takes in a second tight breath and holds it, straightening his back and holding his chin high. 

“You have to go home, Ben.”

The hurt he’d seen moments earlier is nothing compared to what he sees now as the tears gather at the corners of Ben’s eyes, threatening to spill over, but refusing to ultimately do so.

“Fuck you.” Is all he says through gritted teeth, the brokenness of it telling Hux that if he’d managed anything more, those tears would fall.

Ben rushes from the room and Hux drops his head into his hands, his heart feeling like it's been carved out and pinned to the floor where Ben had just stood. His breathing is uneven, his mind racing with what he could have done differently to avoid this outcome. But before he can come to any conclusions he hears the thunk of a heavy bag hitting a door frame and the weight of Ben’s steps storming by the downstairs parlour. Seconds later, the door slams shut and Hux realizes what Ben’s just done.

He’s left.

Hux doesn’t know how long it takes him, but eventually he rises from his desk and slowly, one step at a time, makes his way downstairs. He looks into the parlour, which has long since been taken over by Ben’s studies, and finds that nothing has been touched. The journals still lay open where Ben had last been writing, and there, draped over the back of the couch and facing where Ben always sits, is the painting of Hux. It feels like a stake really has been driven through his heart, like every fairy tale that’s ever been written about his kind.

He stands there, in a daze as regret finally sets in. He remembers thinking he never should have written that book. Never should have published such a ridiculous thing and brought all this upon himself, but for all the bleeding his heart may be doing, he can’t regret that. Not bringing Ben into his life.

Hux jumps with a sudden start when a firm double knock sounds from the front door. He stares at it. Has Ben...come back? Walking over, still feeling like his head is thoroughly muddled, he opens the door and finds...no one. Hux frowns, until his eyes catch something below. Laying on his porch is another letter with the First Order seal pressed into it. Hux’s heart stops. Gingerly, he picks it up and breaks the wax, sliding it’s contents out between his fingers. 

**_Your audacity is astounding._ **

**_Your little toy will be mine and you will bring yourself before me for judgement._ **

**_Do not make me wait._ **

Hux doesn’t think, he just moves. He shoves a hand into his jacket and pulls out what money there is, before bolting from his home, barely remembering to close the door. Frantically, he looks about the street, seeing little more than a pigeon. He’ll have to figure this out on his way. But way to where? Where could Ben have gone? His scent. Hux has done nothing but revel in it these past months. This isn’t like when he arrived. Hux can do this. He can find him. Closing his eyes, Hux takes a deep breath and focuses. It only takes a moment for him to catch it, and then he doesn’t waste a second more.

He cares little about keeping himself completely indistinguishable from the norm right now, and leaps to the roofs. Still best he not be at eye level. He darts along the crests of them, the blocks disappearing behind him as he pursues. Eventually, he spots a collection of teenage boys playing in a small park. Perfect.

Hux drops into an alley and makes his way quickly to him. They pause in their playing to look up at him as Hux holds out the letter and a palm full of coins.

“Which of you is the fastest?”


	10. Chapter 10

The beginning chill of autumn creeps in under Ben’s jacket, poking and prodding at him like children mocking his oversized ears in the schoolyard. He feels small despite his stature, and curls in over his haphazardly packed bag on the bench outside the train station. This is the only place he could think to go. It’s so late into the night nothing will be running for hours yet, and only the street lamps attempt to comfort him. So focused on replaying the events of their argument over in his head, Ben pays no attention to the wind scattering ruby leaves across his back, or the man walking down the street towards him in a coat to match them.

He’d been a fool. First in coming here at all and second in thinking that Hux would want him to stay. When he’d decided to come to London, he wasn’t even sure he’d find Hux, let alone become his lover. Really, he should be thankful for what he’s had, it’s more than he’d even dreamed of experiencing. But that doesn’t stop it from feeling like a spectre of grief has sunken it’s long, bony fingers into his chest and flayed his heart.

Hux had said it was for his own good. Why did everyone think they knew how he should live his life better than he did? Telling him what to do, where to go, where not to go, who not to be with. Time, after time, after time. Was a decision ever going to be his own? Even coming here had means giving up his agency to his mother when he returns. And now he finally has to. Ben’s jaw tightens until he hears his teeth creaking in his ears. The air instantly makes the trails of his tears feel cold against his skin. 

“You, mortal.”

Ben jumps at the sound of being spoken to and he looks up to see a man in a red coat standing before him. It takes his distracted brain a second to catch up and answer the question of where he’s seen him before. He’d followed Ben that first day. Hux had been shaken when he’d brought it up and warned him to be wary. Ben sits up straighter, his wits coming back to him.

“What do you want?”

“You are to be punished for the crimes of Armitage Hux before Supreme Leader Snoke.”

Panic rises in Ben, a cornered animal calculating it’s odds. 

“What are you talking about? I don’t know those people. Leave me alone.”

The crimson man gives a huff of vague amusement before taking wide strides towards Ben, who shoots up to his feet and tosses his satchel around to his back. When a hand shoots out towards his neck, Ben jerks to the side and brings his elbow down on the man’s arm. Ben staggers but catches his weight on the back foot and sends his body forward, fist up as he drives it into the jaw of his attacker. 

The stranger gives a loud shout and turns away, clutching his jaw. Ben feels a swell of triumph as he hurriedly starts jogging backwards, not ready to take his eyes off his opponent yet. It turns out to be a good call, because he wouldn’t have had a chance to defend himself when the snarling face turns back to him. He disappears into a blur of inhuman speed, before Ben is checked bodily onto the ground. The force knocks the wind from him momentarily as he realizes there are hands starting to reach for his throat. No, he can’t let him-

Suddenly, the weight above him is gone, just before he hears the loud thud of a body hitting cobblestone. Ben looks up beside him and his dark eyes widen, letting in the silhouette of his lover. He’s never seen Hux angry, irritated for sure, but never truly livid. Those golden-green eyes quickly shift down to him, shedding their fury for a look of concern. 

“Are you alright?”

Ben nods, “Yeah,” then starts to sit up. Hux reaches out to offer his hand, but in the same moment it’s gone as something clips the side of Ben’s head and sends him tumbling down onto the stone. He clutches at his skull, the impact making it hard to focus as he pushes himself up on one arm. In the shadow of the lamplight he watches as a vicious smear of red and emerald flashes back and forth across the street. Shouts and growls fill the air, with no source he can keep up with. 

He has to do something, anything, to intervene, to give Hux some kind of opening or a way out for either of them. Frantically, Ben looks down at the ground, eyes flickering across the surfaces beneath him for a tool. Spotting a half broken cobblestone, he digs his fingers into the earth at its edge and pries it up, hefting the rock along with him as he stands.

Ben waits, watches, until finally they stop, but not for the reason Ben wants. His heart stops as he watches what he can only describe as claws sink into the throat of his lover, pinning him against the brick of the train station wall. Hux lets out a garbled, wet sound as he shoves at the other man’s face in an attempt to gouge at his eyes. It’s clear this man is better trained than Hux, and certainly bigger than him, if that even matters for vampires. But Ben doesn’t take a second longer to think. 

There’s a sickening crack as Ben swings the rock into their attacker’s temple. Ben watches as he folds down onto himself, crumpling to the ground. Ben’s left standing there, blood dripping from the rock as he watches the same vibrant liquid pour down over the front of Hux’s jacket. Their eyes lock and Ben drops the stone, hands coming up to clutch at Hux’s throat as his pulse roars in his ears. It’s futile, his fingers do little to stop the flow as Hux sags against the wall.

“Hux? Hux are you-?”

“I’ll be fine.” He croaks, a hand coming up to smooth the hair from Ben’s face and cup his cheek. “Just-”

Ben’s head whips around as a carriage thunders down the street towards them. The horses whinny loudly as they’re dragged to a halt by the powerful woman running them. From her perch, Phasma glares down at them, her pale blond hair shining beneath the lamplight like a lighthouse in a storm. 

“Get in, before I change my mind.”

Ben doesn’t hesitate, dipping down and picking Hux up like a bride about to be carried over the threshold. Hux lets out a gurgle of protest, but Ben moves too quickly for him to do anything about it. He lays Hux out on the seat before slamming the carriage door behind them. The moment it’s latch falls into place, Ben is thrown onto the seat over Hux’s legs as Phasma takes off. 

Ben fumbles around, untangling himself from his bag and dropping it to the floor. He kneels next to Hux, who reaches out to lay a calming hand over his shoulder. Hux’s voice still comes out strained.

“It’s alright. I’ll heal from this within a day or two, faster with fresh blood. I’m not going to die on you like this.”

Ben lets out a broken little sound and winds both arms around Hux’s middle in one swift motion. He doesn’t care about the blood that sticks to his cheek as he hugs Hux’s chest to him. Slowly, two arms settle comfortingly around his shoulders too. They’re quiet for some time, with just the sound of the rolling carriage and clattering hooves to fill the space.

“I’m-I’m sorry I sent you away, but Ben,” Hux’s hands move to cup his face, pulling it away from his chest to look at him properly, “this is why. Snoke has decided to take you, and punish me. I can’t let that happen.”

Ben feels the fire from their fight earlier spark to life inside him again, despite the kindness etched into his lover’s features. 

“So you’re still going to make me leave you? I still don’t get a choice?”

Hux looks pained by his words and closes his eyes.

“Answer me!” Ben demands, arms tightening desperately around Hux’s middle.

Slowly, Hux’s beautiful eyes open, their warm light cascading down onto his saddened soul.

“No, you’re right. What you do with your life isn’t my decision to make. Ben, I-” He pauses, eyes darting away for a moment before slowly returning, “I have to leave. That’s what Phasma is doing. When you first got here, I had to come up with a getaway plan in case things went awry, and seeing as they have, well…”

“What do you mean?” Ben asks immediately.

“I’m leaving London. Phasma has a safe house in Venice where I will have the time to form a new life just as I always have before. In a few years, Mitaka and she will funnel my artworks back to me and by the time Snoke finds out where I am, I’ll be far from his influence. I can’t come back here until the Order is rid of him, and there’s no knowing when that will be. If...if we’re going to part ways, now is the time to do it, Ben. Or…” His brows furrow, worry pressing wrinkles into the corners of his eyes. 

“Or?”

“Or...you come with me, and start a new life too. But Ben, as long as you’re with me, this world doesn’t go away. It might leave you alone for a time, but things come back, or new things find you.”

Ben stares, not fully absorbing what Hux has said right away.

“It’s your choice this time.” Hux reiterates softly, still holding him.

It feels overwhelming, but in the best possible way. Hux is offering him what he’s wanted his entire life, to simply choose for himself what direction he wants to take it in. Leia has always meant well, but had a plan for him the moment he was born. And when finally free of that, his mistakes did nothing but haunt him, bullying the people around him into leaving nothing but what they deemed low enough for him. And though he’d chosen to find Hux, it had taken offering his future as sacrifice. 

“Yes,” Ben answers, almost breathless, “Hux, that’s all I want. To go with you, and make my own life, the way I want it. I’ve never felt like I had an ounce of control over it until I started talking to you, even as Percival. You never ridiculed me, never told me how I should be spending my time, you just let me be me and-and obsess over all of this. I don’t want to go back to living how everyone else forces me to. I want this, I want you. Even if there’s danger, at least I’m choosing it for myself.”

Hux’s eyes get glossier the more he speaks, searching his features for earnestness. Taking a deep breath, a subtle smile tugs at Hux’s lips, and then he kisses Ben. It’s firm and full, funnelling so much feeling into their mutual touch. When he pulls back, their foreheads rest against each other and Ben looks deeply into those eyes that ensnared him all those months ago. They’re now softened by a smile, only for him.

“Then you shall have it all.”


	11. Epilogue: Letter Home

_ Dear Mother, _

_ I know you were expecting me home weeks ago, and that it’s been longer than you’d like since my last letter, but so much has happened I just haven’t had the chance to write until now. You have probably noticed this letter is coming from Venice, which definitely isn’t London. I’ll start by saying I found the man I was looking for, but instead of an immortal, he was an art collector. I’ve spent the last months getting to know him and his work and he’s invited me to join his business. I know it’s not what you had in mind, but it’s esteemed work. He’s prolific at what he does and my penchant for obsessive research is an asset to him.  _

_ I know I’m breaking my promise, but I hope you’ll forgive me this time. I need to do this for myself. I don’t know when I’ll be coming home, it might not be for a very long time. We’re in Venice now, but this job can take us all over the world.  _

_ I like it here. With him. I think you’d probably be at each other’s throats, but respect each other. If we find a painting I think you’ll like, I’ll send it to you. And one for Maz. Please tell her that all her notes were right, and thank her for the painting more than anything. It’s changed my life. And tell Surlinda I’m sorry that I won’t be coming back. Ask if she’ll send me a copy of The Fringe once in a while. I know you don’t like it, but it got me here. _

_ I hope you’re doing well, mom. I’ll keep in touch. _

_ Yours, _

_ Ben Solo _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading all the way to the end! I really hope you’ve enjoyed it and would love to hear your thoughts in a comment :) 
> 
> I put a lot of love into this and if people are interested, I may write some smutty one shots for these two. Perhaps based around a masquerade in Venice or something of the like. Let me know if that sounds interesting! 
> 
> Once again, thank you for giving this story some love <3


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